


You Know That I Know the Real You

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [10]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Worship, Confined/Caged, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The epilogue of The World, It's Turning Inside-Out. It will make more sense if you've read the first nine parts. This takes place after the Red Nose Day Breakfast Show episode with Union J and Little Mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know That I Know the Real You

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Explicit sexual content (slash [oral sex, penetrative sex, threesome, size!kink, barebacking, comeplay, overstimulation, fingering]; use of sex toys; and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (voice command, speech/motion restrictions, orgasm control/denial, mentions of collaring, caging, ownership, dissociation associated with subspace; no impact play).  
>  **Disclaimer:** We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.  
>  **Notes:** There's an important A/N at the end. Until then, just... thank you to everyone for reading and waiting for us! We hope you like it.

George beams as he opens the front door of his very own brand-new flat, moved into less than a day before. It has a peephole and a doorbell and a doorman downstairs who has to let his guests into the building and call up on an intercom that sticks out of the wall beside the door. George can't call down, though; he's tried, because Fred the doorman seems cool and George couldn't sleep and fancied a chat.

"What do you think?" he asks, doing a bit of a twirl with his hands out, presenting the flat to Harry and Louis. They're probably not impressed, as they're fucking -- One Direction, and Harry's house is the size of this whole building, but it's the first time George has ever had a place to live on his own and he's proud of it, bare and unfurnished as it is.

He has appliances, at least, like an X Box and a refrigerator and a kettle. And he has a bed and a little nest made of packing peanuts and bubble wrap and blankets, because he doesn't have a chair yet.

"You are going to get actual chairs at some point, yes?" asks Louis, an amused expression firmly on his face. His limbs are all loose and relaxed and it looks good on him. George thinks maybe Louis missed performing more than he'd let on, because having a few shows under his belt's brought color into his face and a sparkle to his eye.

"Maybe. This is brilliant, though!" George flops into his nest and there's a grand crackle as peanuts go rolling and bubbles pop. "You should try it! So comfy!"

"I'll give it a go," volunteers Harry, with a solemn look and an arm across Louis' chest as though he's keeping Louis from sacrificing himself. "If I don't get out alive, tell my mother I love her."

George rolls off the nest with a soft _flump_ and grins, shiny-eyed, at Harry.

Harry does a bit of a stretch, fingertips to his toes and then arms stretching side to side before he heaves himself into the nest, arms and legs flailing madly.

The bubble wrap and packing peanuts all explode with noise, crunching under him, and Louis ducks like there's gunfire. But George just collapses in giggles and Harry wriggles around, wrapping himself in the blanket.

"You'll need more of these if you want to have anyone over," he mumbles, his words slurred before he spits a packing peanut out onto the floor. "Maybe just get loads of them, flood the sitting room with them."

"That webcomic!" George enthuses. "Where the girl fills her flat with those playpen balls and everyone has sex in them. I'll do that with packing peanuts. But it's comfy, isn't it?"

"It is comfy," Harry admits. "We should get one, Lou."

"Get one? That's the bits left behind after you get _actual stuff_."

"Well, let's buy more stuff, then," reasons Harry, grinning up at Louis. "Got to be a place that sells packing peanuts, though. Otherwise where would the people who pack stuff get them from?"

Louis blinks. They're all silent for a long minute, considering, before George shrugs and says, "Well, they aren't made of excess peanut. So don't eat one. I tried that last night."

"Put anything in your mouth, won't you?" Harry asks. He wriggles his way from the mass of peanuts and stands, giving George a quick kiss. "One of my favorite things about you."

George grins. "Not _anything_ , I do have standards. I was just curious 'cause of the name."

"What are they made out of, then? Why do they call them packing peanuts? Can't be because they _look_ like peanuts." Harry doubtfully holds one between his thumb and forefinger. "They look like shriveled up elf shoes."

"I think it was just good alliteration; can we not get in a tizzy over _packing peanuts_ and _bubble wrap_?" Louis crosses past the two of them, poking his head into the corridor to take a look there and crossing into the kitchen to open all of the cabinets.

"Spoilsport," mutters Harry. "You're just upset you haven't got a turn with the peanuts yet."

"I'm really alright," Louis promises. He opens the refrigerator and peers inside. "Georgie, how is it you have a cake and two casseroles but no _chairs_?"

"Fans gave me them!" George says happily. "But they didn't bring me chairs, which I guess is understandable. They're harder to fit in a car."

"You just take food from fans?" Louis asks, obviously incredulous. "We haven't been allowed food from fans for years."

"But they're nice," George says. "They liked my fake chair."

Louis looks at him, then swallows, hard. "Right," he says faintly. "Of course they did. Of course you -- of course they did. You're remarkable, Georgie."

George grins and gallops over to wrap his arms around Louis' waist from behind, resting his cheek against the flat of Louis' back just between his shoulder blades. "I missed you."

He can feel the way Louis' frame shakes a little with laughter, and then his arms settle over George's, his hands squeezing George's hands lightly. "I missed you too, love," he murmurs, leaning back against George. "Always miss you."

George murmurs, pleased, and kisses a knobble in Louis' spine.

Louis makes a happy noise and then twists around to give George a proper hug, all closeness and strong arms and warmth.

He tips his chin to give George a kiss, letting it linger before nuzzing their noses a moment. "I like your flat. It's very you."

George beams. "Thank you," he says, nosing his way against Louis' neck. He is proud of his flat. It's kind of empty but it's the first time he's lived on his own and it's his.

Harry sidles up behind George and wraps his arms around him, too, hands rested on Louis' back all the way around the both of them.

George sighs. He really has missed them. He's had a lot of distractions, but the only time he really feels like he belongs is when he's here, wrapped up between them.

Harry kisses the back of George's neck and lets his teeth scrape, just a tease.

It makes a shudder roll down George's spine, easy and slow. He tips his head back to kiss Harry's cheek. "Can we go to yours now?" he asks hopefully.

"But I thought you liked your flat?" Harry says, mischief in his voice. "Don't you want to stay here? My house doesn't have anything here doesn't."

George whines quietly. "It _does_ , you know it does. Don't be mean." He pouts his bottom lip because Harry seems to like that.

Harry indeed smiles and turns George's chin just enough that they can kiss again, Harry's teeth lightly stinging at the plush of George's lip for just a moment.

"Please?" George asks, in between his boys and wanting to be in his cage again. "I can see my flat any day. Can't see my cage any day. Or you."

"Oh, I see, we rank second place now," Louis sniffs. His lips trail over the middle of George's throat and George shivers, exposed.

"Only when you're being mean." That's ridiculous, of course. They're always first and they know it and George knows it and George's fecking -- _mum_ knows it, which had been. Swell.

He'd sort of tried to leave it at 'two members of One Direction knew I was upset so they flew me out to see their concert,' but she hadn't been having none of it.

Harry and Louis had laughed themselves hoarse at the story, of course. George had sulked loudly until they apologized.

"So, what, did you have to tell her _everything_?" Harry had asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

"God, no!" George had exclaimed in horror. "Just like, what was necessary. Practically hung up on her. It was _so embarrassing_. Shut up."

"How'd you explain us, then?" Louis had rolled over and given George a smarmy grin from where his head rested across George's lap. "Are we officially going steady?"

George had tipped his chin up and tried very hard not to go red. It didn't work. "I said that you were my boyfriends, who I loved very much."

"And how'd that go over?" Harry had sounded genuinely invested in this answer, as though he was on tenterhooks now to be invited to Easter tea.

George had paused. "She, er. Might've started crying. A bit."

"Good crying or bad?"

"Good. She's told me to ask you 'round for Sunday roast sometime when you're not off conquering every hemisphere." George had snorted.

"Good! I love a good roast. I'll make the Yorkshires and the gravy; no one else does it right," Harry had declared.

"Oh, God, you're going to bond with my mum," George had muttered. "She'll like you better than me. Everyone's mum loves you best."

Harry's smile had radiated light. "It's a talent."

"One of many," Louis had huffed, rolling on top of Harry, and that had been the end of that conversation.

It had been a nice end to a conversation if George had ever had one, though. Lots of pretty bruises and some rugburn on his knees. Now, Louis looks up at George and taps a fingertip roughly against George's pursed lips. "We are never, ever mean. We're honest and blunt, maybe."

 _And mean_ , George adds, if only in his head. Out loud he doesn't say anything, just widens his eyes and hopefully kisses Louis' finger.

"Alright, we can go to Harry's now," Louis says. "Although I did fancy some nail clipping cake and hair lasagna."

"It's good lasagna." George grins at Louis. "Haven't had any of the cake, yet. I'll let you know."

Louis frowns, though, like he doesn't think it's funny after all. "I wish you would be more careful."

"I am careful." George stops smiling quite so widely, with how frowny Louis looks now. "Promise. I don't take _all_ of it. It's just, it feels really rude, when they've gone through so much trouble. Nobody's ever made cakes for me before."

"Well, take them, but don't eat them," Harry says. "That hair cake Ed got was really, truly, the worst thing I've ever seen."

"I got a box of hair once." George shudders at the thought. "Alright, I guess. Waste of food, though."

Louis smiles at that for some reason and kisses George lightly. "We'll scrounge you up as much food as you like, okay?"

"But does it count as food if there aren't nail clippings in it?" George smiles, and kisses Louis again, because he can and he likes it.

Louis' _ugh_ is muffled by George's mouth.

Harry's hands have crept to George's hips, his fingers pressing into his hip bones and his chin hooked over George's shoulder. It's nice. Everything's so... nice. It'd be nicer if George was in his cage, but this is still lovely.

Harry kisses George's ear softly. "Missed having you close like this. You fit so well in my hands."

"Everything fits in your hands, Harold, they're massive." Louis doesn't sound mocking, though, just absent-minded and a little fond.

George just giggles at that, because it's one thing to hear them bantering over Skype and another to be there, really be part of it.

"Our giggly boy." Louis kisses George's neck, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Missed you. It's so good to be able to touch you again, little love."

A happywarm flash of heat floods through George at that and he bites his lip to keep from whimpering.

"Off to yours, Hazza." Louis gives George a bite on his collarbone, quick but hard enough that it leaves George wanting more. "Our boy seems a bit impatient."

George nods, moving his hips a bit in the grip of Harry's hands.

"Lucky we brought the sex car." Louis laughs to himself, getting his hands up George's shirt for a playful grope and then digging into his pocket for the keys. "Harry, do you mind driving? I want to spend some quality time with Georgie in your backseat."

George does whimper at that, doing a happy little dance as he flutters around to find his shoes.

When he returns to them, shoes on and laced, Harry and Louis are looking at him with matching small smiles, and Harry gives his bum a firm pat.

"Have you been practicing with the new plug like we asked?"

George bobs his head in a nod. "Yeah, just like you wanted. Promise."

"Good," Louis praises him. He takes George's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Let's go then, so you can show us how good you've been."

George preens a little, because he loves being good for them, and loves it even more when they _tell_ him he's been good. And it's not as hard as it was when he was on the show and they were everywhere else, but it's still a buzz of anticipation in his stomach.

He _knows_ , now, that he's been good enough for them. And it's good to know it; makes him more confident. Everyone's noticed it, even Nick, yesterday.

Not that he cares what Nick thinks of him. It's just -- he can't help what makes him feel accomplished, can he?

Making people happy -- that's what George likes. It's what he needs to show he's done. Harry and Louis give him that in spades.

While he's been lost in thought, Harry and Louis have ushered him down the hall and into the lift. George lives in a building with a lift. It's all a bit surreal.

It's sort of like living in the Corinthia, except Rylan's allowed to come in and there's no bar downstairs.

Harry kisses George's head while they're headed to the ground floor, and George sighs happily. He's just, he's so glad that this is how his life's turned out.

"Do you need to let anyone know you've gone?" Louis asks, pausing as they wait for the parking attendant to return with Harry's car. "D'you have anything in the morning?"

"I should probably let someone know," George muses. Actually, Jaymi's told him in no uncertain terms that George is to text or call him if he's going to be out of reach for more than twelve hours.

Louis seems to know it, too, because he smiles indulgently and pats George's cheek. "Why'd'n't you text Jaymi?"

"Good idea." George wiggles his phone from his pocket and taps out a message letting Jaymi know he'll be at Harry's as the car pulls up in front of them.

He gets back a _have fun, be safe! X_ , pockets his mobile, and climbs into the backseat.

Louis follows in after him and the door is barely closed before he's gently pressing George down into the seat, with one hand in the center of George's chest and the other propping him up beside George's head.

"Hi," George chirps. He gives Louis a soft smile and rests his hands lightly on Louis' waist, thumbs tucked beneath his shirt and jacket to get to Louis' soft, warm skin.

"Hi," Louis says back. He's not doing anything other than looking at George, but he likes doing that sometimes, so George lets him.

"Sorry if I still smell like cinnamon," George says. "I think it got in my lungs."

Louis' mouth curls up at the corner. "Had fun though, didn't you? We watched all the videos. You're really cute on camera."

George wrinkles his nose. "Yes, as I drown in spices."

"Cute," says Louis again, tapping George's nose. "You're always cute, even when you smell a bit like a pie."

"That's not so bad," George agrees. "Could be worse." He gives Louis a winning grin, staring up from underneath him.

Louis drops down to his elbows, slowly, until his chest is pressed against George's, and his lips can catch George's in a not-quite-kiss. His hips are nestled between George's thighs and George makes a noise that gets caught in his throat.

"How've you missed us, Georgie?" Louis murmurs. "Where've you missed us most?"

"Everywhere." George doesn't need to whisper, since it's just them in the car, but it feels right to stay quiet. "Missed you everywhere."

"Mmm?" Louis kisses the warm shadow beneath George's ear. "Did you miss us inside you? Me and Harry?"

"Yeah." It comes out breathless. "And sucking you, missed that a lot."

"Good." Louis bites the edge of George's ear with the tips of his sharp little crooked teeth. "Is that what you want to do first when we get to Harry's?"

George hesitates, but shakes his head. "Want -- I want to go in my cage. First."

"I know, love," Louis murmurs. "But you don't like making choices once you're in your cage. So we have to plan it all out first, remember?"

Oh, well, that makes sense. George can do that. He nods, kisses Louis' cheek. "I remember. Sorry."

Louis kisses George's nose. "Don't apologize, cinnamon-face. Just want to make sure I'm doing everything you like and nothing you don't."

"I don't like the name 'cinnamon-face.'"

Louis shrugs and smirks. "But I like your cinnamon-flavored face."

George raises his eyebrows. "You're a cruel man."

Louis smiles and kisses both of George's cheeks. "Not so much as you are, doing awful things in the name of charity. I don't want to talk about it, as we'll soon be naked, I suspect, but I was very proud of you."

"I thought you might be." George can't say Louis hadn't crossed his mind, when he was doing unspeakable things to Nick Grimshaw's hair. He might've been a little excessive, but, well, that's what Nick gets for calling him Harry's little sister.

Louis' eyes are soft and fond and just that bit unreadable that makes George want -- need, _need_ \-- to please Louis that much more.

He said he was proud of George. George would follow Nick Grimshaw around dropping worms in his hair every single day if it meant Louis would always tell him he was proud of him for it.

(Or maybe even if he didn't. Nick's nice enough and everything, and he does make Aiden happy, and George likes Aiden -- they've had coffee twice since the tour -- but really, calling him Harry's _sister_. Cruel.)

"Made Harry laugh 'til he cried," Louis tells him conspiratorially. "Don't tell him I told you."

"I can hear you," Harry says loudly and plaintively from the front seat. "I'm four feet away."

"Don't tell him I told you," Louis repeats in the same stage whispers.

George giggles madly, happy to be here and happy to be with Louis and happy to be with Harry and happy that he has his very own flat _and_ his very own cage at Harry's house, two perfect George-sized homes for a Georgie.

Louis kisses his neck again and begins to suck a bruise there, and George's laughter trails off into an entirely different sound, encouraging and raw in the back of his throat.

"Can it be dark?" Louis murmurs against his skin. "Don't have any photoshoots?"

"Not for a while. And there's makeup." And George _really_ wants a dark lovebite.

Louis only answers with a bite, hard enough that George yelps and feels himself harden up in his trousers.

"Good boy," says Louis in response, his thigh pressing forward just enough that George could grind against it, if Louis wanted him to.

George doesn't, though, because Louis hasn't said: he waits, knows that they have all night and most of tomorrow, there's plenty of time coming for -- well, coming.

"Very good boy," Louis laughs. He sucks on the mark he's left, aching and amazing. "What would you like, Georgie? After your cage?"

George hums, considering. There's so much he wants; he's so happy, he wants everything. (He always wants everything with Louis and Harry, though, and especially lately. He hasn't seen them in ages, and it aches like he's in withdrawal.)

He wants as much of them as he can get, stock up on it like a bear stocks up on food before winter. George isn't a bear, he's a monkey. Do monkeys hibernate? George doesn't know.

Either way, he'll be in a sad sex-hibernation until the next time he sees his boys, and he wants to get as much of them as he can.

"A lot," he concludes, though he knows Louis will want more from him. "I want as much as you'll give me, please?"

Louis kisses the corner of George's eye softly. "Of course, little love. Anything you want."

George laughs quietly because he has to, because Louis is lovely and here with him and perfectly perfect and George has him, and he has Harry. It's all so ridiculous.

"I want to suck your cock," he murmurs. "And Harry's. And I want -- don't know, really, what I'll want when I'm in my cage. I can't think like that unless I'm in there."

Louis hums. "I don't want to do anything you won't like," he murmurs. "You won't be able to tell me you don't want it."

George shrugs one shoulder. "Just keep touching me and being nice. I can tell you what I want; I'm just not good at words when I'm in there."

"Yeah, I remember." Louis smiles at him, kissing George's cheek. "Okay, if you're sure. I like to think I've got a handle on what you like and don't like by now."

George grins and nods. "I trust you completely."

Louis kisses George's neck, right over the new mark, very sweetly for that. "And after your cage? What do you want tomorrow?"

"Everything all over again." George shrugs as well as he can while he's lying down. "I like everything we do. Don't want to waste the time we've got."

Louis bites his lip before meeting George's eyes. "Would you want -- to try, again?"

George doesn't need to ask what he's talking about. Louis' been hinting at it and George supposes he's been hinting in return, trying again, both of them at the same time. Inside him. He won't lie and say he doesn't, but he's also not going to pretend he isn't nervous.

George bites his own lip in response and nods slowly. "Not in the cage. It'd be -- too much. But yeah, please?"

"Tomorrow?" Louis asks, clearing his throat and talking like his eyes haven't lit up with hope. "You'll be relaxed, still, but you'll be able to think. Won't you?"

George slips one of his hands all the way beneath Louis' shirt and runs it up in the blistering warmth between the cotton and Louis' impossibly soft skin, touching just to feel until he can rest his palm over Louis' thumping heartbeat. "Yeah, totally. I really want, I want you. Both of you. I always have."

"I know you have." Louis speaks quietly. "I just didn't want to force the question, after, you know. After you had to red out. Didn't seem right."

"That wasn't -- " George starts, then shakes his head. He pets his fingertips over the soft, sparse hair feathered over Louis' chest instead. "Thank you. But I'm asking, now, please."

"And I'm saying yes." Louis smiles down at him, all eye-crinkles and smile-lines. "Yeah, good, I'm glad."

George squirms a little with joy and nips his head up to pepper kisses along Louis' jaw.

Louis laughs at him, one hand tucking behind George's back. "Can I take off your shirt for a bit, love?" he asks. "I know we're in the car, so you can say no."

George slides his hand out from Louis' shirt and flops his arms above his head. "Have at."

Louis pushes George's shirt up his stomach far more slowly than George thinks is necessary, and then up over his head. He doesn't take it all the way off, leaving his arms a little tangled in it so that he can leave kisses down George's chest and stomach.

The glances from Harry, finding their way to them through the rearview mirror, flare hot at George every time Harry looks back, taking the car the long way around through side streets to his house.

It warms George that he knows the area around Harry's house so well, even if it's a stupid thing to feel warm over. He makes a bizarre noise when Louis bites his nipple, more out of surprise than any particular pain or pleasure.

Louis snorts. "Very sexy, love."

"I'm like a sexy parrot," George grumbles. "Squawk, squawk."

Louis laughs outright at that, his mouth resting against George's collarbone.

He proceeds to bite George there as well, which is fine, as even if George _was_ doing a photoshoot any time soon, it won't be shirtless, that's for sure.

George sighs, shifting his hips up against Louis' just to get a little pressure, a little contact. He can wait, he can definitely wait, but he'd rather not if he doesn't _have_ to.

Last time, he'd come as soon as they touched him in his cage. He'd sort of like to avoid that this time, if he can, although maybe he can't anyway.

Louis gives him a bit of a grind, slowly, their hips their only real point of contact aside from Louis' mouth on his skin. It's good, and George gasps at that as much as he does from the bite Louis is giving him.

"Good, George, want us so much," Louis murmurs. "Are you going to come in your pants for me again? I love it when you do that, you know. You always look so pretty and innocent that I like making you dirty."

"Yeah," sighs George. He'll do whatever Louis wants when he's talking like that. And always, but that's beside the point. "I want to. Can I?"

Louis angles his thigh just right so George can buck up against it, moaning softly. "I'd never say no to that, love."

George's hands find their way into Louis' back pockets, anchoring him so he can work himself against Louis' leg and hip and catching the fat press of Louis' own hard cock through the denim. He moans loud and broken and open so Harry can hear, too, and hopes that they're both desperate for his mouth by the time they get to Harry's house and strip him from his clothes and let him settle into his pretty cage. Louis keeps kissing George's face and neck and the lines of his collarbone as George ruts needily and quick and messy against him, just trying to get off -- George's spine shudders down to the base of his hips as his cock blurts a warning of precome, a wet nickel on the front of his jeans.

Louis kisses George's cheek lightly. "That's enough for now, little love. Don't you think?"

George doesn't think it's enough at _all_ , but if Louis wants it to be, it will be. "Okay," he pants, his hips twitching forward once more. "Yeah, it's, it's enough."

Louis sucks a wet kiss over the bulb of George's adam's apple just to make him shiver and whimper. "Good boy, perfect Georgie." He rests his warm hand over George's aching cock and rubs once, both soothing and teasing, over the shape of it through his pants. "We'll take good care of you soon."

"I know you will." George bites his lip, partially to entice, partially because he just likes the feeling of his lip squeezed between his teeth, the sharp edge of it.

"I like that we get you for the whole weekend," Louis whispers. "I don't want you to wear clothes or walk on your feet until Monday."

That makes George groan, his head dropping back against the seat. He loves when they let him do this. It's his favorite way to be, naked and making Harry and Louis happy.

Louis' thumb rubs just over the spot of wet, just over the head of George's dick. "Just a bit longer, love. Don't come yet, or you won't be allowed to for the rest of tonight."

With an order like that hanging over his head, George has no choice but to force it back, because he wants to come, wants to come so much his head falls off or something. Not being able to come the rest of tonight would foil his plans severely.

And he isn't sure he can keep from coming while he's in his cage, anyway -- it's too wonderful in there and he's too beautiful when he's in it and everything feels too _good_.

So he'll wait. He'll wait because he has to, even if he feels so _good_ right now, he'll feel even better later.

"Thank you for waiting, George," Harry says from the front seat. They make a broad turn and George knows they're rolling up Harry's street. "I want it on my skin when you come. I've missed it."

George has missed it, too, the way Harry seems to like so much having come on him and in him and around him. It's cute like it shouldn't be, and hot like it definitely should be.

He bites his lip so hard he knows it's white, focusing on the bright, lovely pain of it to keep his mind away from how Louis is gently rocking the heel of his hand over the base of George's cock, trying to make him come, seeing just how good a boy George can be.

He won't, he won't, he won't. He can't, and he won't, not matter what, because Louis said, and George is so good at doing what Louis says.

He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back and his neck expose long and white, just focusing on being good, being perfect, because his reward is so, so close.

The car rumbles to a slow stop and George's breath hitches because his cage is so close now, so close he can almost sense it, like spidey-sense but with sex cages instead.

"Okay, Georgie," Louis murmurs. He bites lightly at the crest of George's throat. "You did so well, such a good boy. Crawl to the house, please."

George still doesn't have his shirt all the way on and it's March and it's cold, but he's good at doing what Louis wants, so he squirms over, letting Harry help him to the ground and then settling on hands and knees. He can feel himself dropping into his floating place and it makes him smile. It's been too long.

The way his jeans fit over his bum and his hard cock when he's on his knees like this isn't entirely pleasant, which -- frankly, that's good, because it'll keep him from coming at least until they get upstairs. He's glad for small miracles.

He's also glad for the fact he's wearing jeans at all, because otherwise Harry's path would be unbearable. He's getting little bits of rock embedded in his hands and it's not at all sexy.

You'd think Harry could afford a nicer walk up the drive, given that he has a billion dollars and a boyfriend who often needs to crawl places. It's rude, really.

Maybe George will mention that to him. Later. Later would be the best time to mention a possible walk renovation.

He pants a little as he waits on the step for Harry to unlock the door. 

Harry reaches down as the key turns, and he pets George's hair fondly. "Alright, sweetheart?"

George nods, presses his face against Harry's leg. Harry's jeans are unnaturally tight, as always, and George bites his knee through them, because it's there and George likes biting things.

"Ooh!" Harry squeals and jumps. "That tickles!"

George grins to himself and does it again. Uplifting. Harry could do with some being uplifted.

"Eep!" Harry jumps from one foot to the other, then pushes the door open. Louis pats George's bum and George scoots through the door ahead of them, still on all fours.

"Very good, Georgie," Louis praises. He reaches to pet the length of George's back, two fingers stroking down the indentation of his spine. It makes George shiver, which was probably Louis' intention.

He sits back prettily on his heels and folds his hands in his lap, staring up at them with moon-eyes and waiting for their next instruction. Sometimes they want him to take his clothes off before going upstairs, and he isn't sure whether he's meant to crawl up all those stairs to his cage or if he'll get to be carried.

"S'upstairs, Lou," Harry murmurs, crouching down and thumbing at the plush of George's lower lip. "Do you think you can make it up all those stairs on your hands'n'knees, love?"

George bites his lip, considering.

"That'll take ages," Louis argues. "And you know how he likes piggybacks. Carry him, H, I think? Unless your back's hurting."

"I'm alright," Harry agrees, though it makes George frown. He knows sometimes Harry's back acts up but neither of them had mentioned it. Did something happen? It's certainly possible, with the way Harry flops around on the stage.

He pouts up at Harry, then chances leaning forward to dapple kisses over the front of Harry's thigh, just in case.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Harry whispers, pressing a kiss to the crown of George's head. "Hop on? Never says no to a piggyback, does our Georgie."

It's true, of course. When Harry bends his knees, George scrabbles up, hooking his arms around Harry's broad shoulders and nestling his chin over the crook of Harry's neck, right where the pulse tickles at him.

"There we go," Louis murmurs, a hand under George's bum to help ease them up when Harry grunts as he gets to his feet. "Lift from the knees, Hazza, that's what they say."

George pats Harry's chest, and they make their way up the stairs, Louis' hand still helpfully on George's bum.

Harry's arms don't even tremble at all, like carrying George is easy for him, and George goes a bit swoony, even still, because Harry's strong and good and funny and not funny at all and he wants George.

There's a familiar shadow casting long lines across Harry's bedroom floor as they approach the door, and George sighs, melting a little. His cage.

"It missed you, too, Georgie," Louis whispers. "Anything you want to double check before you go in?"

George tilts his head. His cage is perfect; what could be wrong with it?

"We took good care of it when we were here," Harry assures him. "I even dusted it this morning."

"I'd like to be inside now, please," says George softly. He'd more than like that; he _needs_ that, to feel warm and safe and completely cede control.

Louis kisses the back of George's neck where he can reach. "Alright, little love. When Harry puts you down, take the rest of your clothes off and I'll open the door for you, okay?"

"Okay," George agrees. Harry lowers him slowly, until George has his feet on the ground and then drops onto his hands and knees again. He undoes the fastenings of his jeans slowly, efficiently, his mind a swirl of gold clouds and gleeful anticipation.

He's already hard -- painfully hard, and needy and overexcited -- and he eases his pants down over his cock carefully, trying to avoid touching it.

He hears Harry make a quietly satisfied noise, and if he wasn't slowly sinking into his own head, he'd feel proud. As it is, he wants to be in his cage. He wants to be in his cage right now.

Once he's naked, the cage seems to glow a little, reflecting the softly burnished light pouring in from the orange sunset outside Harry's window. Even though Harry says he'd dusted it, little glitters of swimming dust motes float in a cloud around the cage bars like it's magical (and of course, it is).

"In you get," instructs Louis, opening the door for George. He takes care with it, and the hinges don't creak. The door swings open silently, beautiful and ready to have George.

George crawls over, toes curling in anticipation and cock bumping up against his stomach.

Being inside his cage is like coming home, and all of George's breath rushes out in a sigh, his eyes closing so that he can take it all in without distraction for a moment. The floor of it is still perfect, just the right amount of give. He feels tucked away, contained, safe.

He hums happily and rests his cheek against the cool bars, letting his fingers run up and down over the rest like a reassuring hug.

Harry and Louis are good at this, letting him sink back into his cage before they talk to him. Really talk to him, anyway. He can hear Harry murmuring softly, nonsense words just to let George hear that they're still there.

George's hips churn a little, hovering so brightly on the edge of coming that it almost stings, wet slippery cockhead jutting out between two of the bars as George's fingertips stroke over the hinge of the closed door and the seam where the metal meets the soft springy floor.

Finally, some of Harry's words break through, sharp and cutting through the soft mess of George's thoughts. "Don't come yet, Georgie. Not yet."

George blinks and looks past the golden shine of sunlight so bright that he can hardly see anything but shadow and silhouette and the strong lined reflection of his cage bars across the floor of Harry's bedroom. But Harry is there, smiling down at George softly, naked too and covered in pretty black tattoos. There, on the top of his thigh, the three sweet-hearts: George trills a little, so happy it wriggles in the base of his spine.

"There's a good boy. Not yet, you can't come yet. You look so lovely in your cage, Georgie." Harry strokes his cheek through the bars.

It feels like velvet. It feels like down, or silk, or suede, or the light kiss of a warm breeze. It feels like Harry, and it makes George shiver.

And Louis is there, too, a strong presence right next to Harry. He's not touching, but he might as well be, because George can _feel_ him.

Louis looks different, when George is in his cage. Taller. Brighter, shining. Like he could refract light.

"How do you feel?" Louis asks him, his eyes bluer than anything George has ever seen before. "You can just nod and shake: Do you feel good in your cage?"

George nods, letting his cheeks and chin slide against the smooth-polished metal. His cage is kissing him. He giggles, ducking his head.

"Pretty boy," Louis whispers, one fingertip brushing the top of George's cheek. "You're such a pretty boy for us, Georgie, all the time."

George nods, murmuring, as his body spits out another little burble of precome at the feeling of Louis touching him. He is pretty, in his cage; so pretty and good and no one can touch him but Louis and Harry, that's what Harry said.

"Listen," says Louis, and George listens, his eyes wide and set on Louis. Of course he'll listen. "You're going to watch Harry fuck me, alright, love? And I want you to touch yourself, but I don't want you coming before I do."

George blinks, smooth and pretty, as he waits for the words to settle in his head. Louis is so nice, so lovely and nice and safe and he smells so good.

"And when Harry's finished, I want you to suck me off, right through these bars, love. You can do that for us, can't you?"

George nods, swallowing. His lips are already shiny-wet and Louis' not even taken his clothes off yet.

"Always so naked, you." Louis squeezes Harry's shoulder. "Undress me, if you'd be so kind."

He looks down at George and winks. "Do you want to unbutton my trousers, Georgie? Can you do that?"

Of course George can do that. He can do anything, _everything_ for Louis. His fingers slip once, but he unbuttons Louis' trousers with reverence, keeping his eyes on his face because he can't imagine anything else worth watching.

Louis smiles at George and cups his cheek in one palm. There's a rough spot on it, like Louis' fallen during the tour, and George turns to kiss it better.

"Sweetie," murmurs Louis. "You're doing so well today."

George flushes pink with pride and makes a happy little cooing sound into Louis' skin, just where he's sucking lightly on the mound of Louis' thumb.

Louis has more tattoos than George remembers, little ones, scattered on his skin, like he's taking after Harry but on the opposite side of his body. It probably means something. George has noticed that generally, everything Harry and Louis do means something.

He likes it, likes that it means _he_ means something, when he's with them.

Louis' fingers wrap tight around the bars, and he looks back over his shoulder at Harry before he looks back to George, his face alight with happiness. George likes thinking he helped put that expression there. He likes thinking he's made Louis happier.

The curved lines of Louis look good against the stark straightness of George's prettyperfectnice cage, and George hums as he takes in the breadth of Louis' hips and the strength in his round thighs.

"Touch yourself," Louis urges, now naked as the other two, his eyes on George even as Harry touches him. "Show me, George."

The smooth-swirling gold in George's head lights up at that and he sits back on his heels, letting the cage catch him. His cock slaps back against his belly and he groans a little, still too mesmerized with looking at Louis, listening to him, to move his hands.

"Touch yourself." Louis still sounds gentle, but there's a firmness behind it, like if George doesn't start touching himself, Louis will say that he _can't_.

George almost sobs with relief as he gets his hand around himself. He sags against the bars at the side of the cage, trusting it to keep him up, keep him safe.

"Good. Good boy, George, that's a very good boy." Louis is keeping his voice steady, even as he shifts his weight, and George can see Harry's fingers for a moment, slippery and long, before they disappear.

Louis' cock is thickening up, too, rising between two bars at the door of George's cage, and George smiles to see it, likes that it fits in his cage with him.

Everything should fit in his cage, but George also likes that it's perfectly George-sized. Perfect for George.

And he can be perfect in it. He strokes over his cock slowly because Louis wanted him to, and he's already slick and so, so hard.

He has to touch himself softly, carefully, knowing he's not supposed to come yet. He's putting on a show for Louis, and he can't prematurely put on the finale.

Everything feels different in his cage, even his own skin. And he feels different under Louis' gaze, too, brighter and hotter.

"That's so good." Louis doesn't sound so unaffected, now, his fingers gone tight around the bars of George's cage. There's sweat on his brow and in the dips of his hip bones, and his eyes are still on George.

George mews a bit, shifting to get his legs out from under him and spread them a bit, needing the space and the balance, the little stretch. 

Harry's eyes peer over Louis shoulder as he gives it a kiss. "Georgie, d'you want to get your fingers in yourself, too?" He reaches down and sets the bottle of slick on the floor of George's cage like an offering.

George's eyes flick first to Louis, and then when Louis gives him a smile and a nod, he shakily takes the bottle, smiling gratefully at Harry.

Harry leaves his fingers through the bars and they're clean and dry and smell good, like soap and skin and Harry, so George nuzzles at them gratefully.

"You look so nice, Georgie," Harry says to him. "I love being able to watch you like this."

George preens, his back arching prettily so they can see all of him, every inch, his cock hard and pink out in front of him and his little bum behind.

Louis laughs, low and sweet. "Very nice. You look perfect." He gives George's chin an affectionate tweak.

Louis' eyes fall shut then and he huffs a sharp breath out through his nose, his hips snapping up against the door of the cage as Harry pushes into him.

It's gorgeous, of course. There's very little Harry and Louis do together that isn't gorgeous, and this, all skin on skin and hair and small smiles and heavy breathing, it's the very definition of the word.

Even if George hadn't been told to touch himself, he'd need to, watching them. Louis' hands wrap around the bars of George's cage to brace himself, and George watches their flex and release as Louis gets used to the driving rhythm Harry's set.

Harry's hands settle over Louis' and his fingers curl around Louis’ grip there, tight and probably just as much for Louis as it is for himself, to keep his pace steady.

George likes it, likes that his cage can keep them steady, too. Keeps them all safe. And beautiful. And connected. He sobs a moan and tightens his hand around the base of his prick to keep from coming just then.

"Shh-shh-shh," Louis mutters. "That's good, Georgie, you've been doing so well. You're always so good for us."

George nods and leans against the bars to feel the vibration of them as Louis' hips hit over and over. He'll have tell-tale bruises on his hipbones, like George did the last time he saw them. Harry and Louis had kissed them gently the next morning, then sucked them darker until George's eyes were teary.

The noises Louis is making, all low groans and breaths hissed through his teeth, go straight to George's cock. He loves the way Louis sounds when he's into it, when he's being fucked the way he likes.

He isn't touching his cock at all, letting it spit onto the floor of George's cage as he gets closer and closer to coming, and George wants it. He wants to touch it, kiss it, suck it down into his throat. He wants the come on his skin, splattering his face, mussed into his hair, dripping down his belly.

Louis moans from deep in his chest, his fingers tightening once more on the bars. "You look so good, I want your mouth so much, George." He licks his lips, pink and shiny and George wants to kiss him.

George nods and inches forward, leaning down to give the pink head a little lick.

"Not yet."

George whines. He wants this, wants Louis' cock, wants everything. He's in his cage and he knows he's so pretty in his cage, so why doesn't Louis want him yet?

Louis detaches his hand from the bars and pushes his fingers roughly through George's sweaty hair instead. "You're so good, Georgie, I want you all to myself. Let Harry make me come this time and you can make me come all by yourself after."

George can do that. Looking up to see Harry's face, his chin hooked over Louis' shoulder, he doesn't think he could deny him anything.

Harry lets go of the bars on that side, too, and holds his hand out again for George to nuzzle and kiss. "D'you want to suck on these instead, sweetheart?"

George hums happily as Harry feeds fingers into his mouth, so long and lovely. George loves sucking on Harry's fingers. They're the perfect length, and George likes biting the bumps of his knuckles, getting his tongue between them.

He's so much closer to them this way, too, and he can feel and hear and see everything, drenched in the smell of them in front of him. He's going to come if this keeps up, he can't -- he's trying so hard to be good.

He tries to focus on Harry's fingers, on Louis' hand in his hair, anything but his cock and how hard he is and how much he wants to come.

As though there's anything else he can focus on, really, but Harry and Louis. Making sure they're happy, and that they feel good. It's all he wants. He needs it. Them.

He can hear Louis' breath hitch in a gasp, and that must be Harry, coming inside him. George misses that, feeling come drip down his thighs, being filled like that.

Tomorrow, he knows. They promised, tomorrow he can have them both, right at the same time, both of them filling him and he'll be messier and lovelier than he's ever been.

The thought of it, though, is almost too much. George is so close, and he wants Louis in his mouth, and he's so happy in his cage.

He murmurs, trilling and cooing and humming with need and satisfaction, his hand moving fast on his cock now because he _has_ to come, he needs to and he _wants_ to come.

He can hear when Louis comes, and more importantly he can feel it, wet warmth on his thigh and his chest.

" _Yesyesyes_ ," George chants, letting himself lean up against the door of his cage again, his forehead pressed into the soft of Louis' belly and Louis' limp fingers brushing through George's hair as he keeps stroking himself.

Louis' touch is electric as always, like a pleasant shock to George's system that just makes him want to be his best, do his best.

"That's so pretty, little love." Louis' voice is breathless. "Can you come for me?"

"Yes," George says firmly, he can, he can do anything for Louis, he could probably sprout wings and fly for Louis.

"Good." Louis rests his fingertips at George's jaw like he's feeling his heartbeat. "Good boy."

George doesn't close his eyes when he comes, just watches Louis. His hips arch, and he can feel himself let go, but Louis is there, just like he always is, and George watches him.

Louis glows, and the cage sings, and Harry's palm is warm and steadying against the side of George's neck.

George feels like he could do anything, _be_ anything in his cage. And more than that, he feels like Harry and Louis know that as well.

He knows his come is all over Louis' leg. He can see it there, pale against the dark tan on Louis' skin.

Louis doesn't seem to mind. He laughs, instead, and ruffles George's mass of hair. "You've done so well."

George beams. He stretches, touching as much of the cage as he can from where he's knelt at Louis' feet.

"You always do well." Louis smiles fondly at him, thumbing George's lower lip and letting him suck on it for a moment. "You're our favorite boy."

That makes lights go off in George's head, happy and shining and twinkly like fairylights at Christmas, pinging through the slow-moving white-gold with points of brightness that he can catch and keep, firefly-like, tucked away in the corners of his mind.

He _is_ their favorite boy, and when he's in his cage, he _knows_ that, just as much as he knows other things he's been taught. One and one is two, red and blue make purple, and George is Harry- and Louis' favorite boy.

They're facts, true things. As sturdy as the bars of the cage itself.

He licks his lips, and looks hopefully up at Louis. He doesn't know the last time Louis got off, but if it was recently, it'll take him longer to recover, get hard again. And George really wants to suck his cock.

"Shh, little love, it's okay," Louis murmurs. He keeps petting George's hair and gently urges him to lean back enough that Louis can look into George's eyes. "How are you feeling? What's your color?"

If desperate was a color, that would be George's. "Green," he says instead, blinking at Louis. "So green."

Louis smiles. "Good. Make me hard again, then, love."

That, George can definitely do. He nuzzles Louis' cock, still mostly soft, and mouths at it, using his lips and tongue to softly coax it to swell back to hardness.

Louis hisses through his teeth, and George doesn't think he's done this before, come twice in a row like this, even though both George and Harry have.

Harry's hand is rubbing Louis' stomach, just above George's head. George doesn't know if he's calming Louis down or trying to rev him up again, but he's pretty sure Harry knows what he's doing.

"'S'amazing, George," Louis whispers. "Such a good boy, always listen to me."

George always listens to Louis, when he can. He makes a little happy sound and sucks on the head of Louis' cock, pressing himself against the bars to get as close to him as he can.

Louis makes a strangled sound, and George hums because it's beautiful. Everything about Louis is beautiful, even when George isn't in his cage.

Louis puts a hand in George's hair again, tugs a little, and it's so nice. George feels so surrounded by goodness, so content and pleased and happy.

He hopes they let him sleep in his cage again, curled up in a little nest, and he can wake up and blow Harry and be so, so good.

He can remember blowing Harry back in New York, doing it so well his throat hurt for days and every time he swallowed he remembered how good he was.

He wants that for Louis, too, he wants Louis to think he's as amazing as his cage says he is. He eases down a bit more, easing Louis further into his mouth, soft lips smoothing the way.

"That's lovely." Louis touches George's cheek, and George looks up, keeps his eyes on Louis as he sucks him down.

He can feel Louis' breath hitch as the head of his cock teases at the tight passage of George's throat. George lets himself gag on it a little because he knows Louis likes that, the flutter of the muscles and the red limning of George's eyelashes.

Louis does like it, his fingers moving back to grip George's hair, keep him where he is. It's not like George was going to move anywhere anyway, but he likes that Louis keeps him in place.

"That's so nice, Georgie, fuck," Louis rumble-murmurs. "D'you want to take it all? D'you want to choke on it?"

George wants whatever Louis wants, and Louis clearly wants him to choke on it. His head's still so full of fluff and gold and he hums, pleased, sliding his mouth down more.

His cheekbones press against the bars -- to take any more, Louis will have to be in charge, push forward into George's mouth. Fuck it.

"Slow, Georgie," Louis warns before he begins to move. He controls the pace, pushing his hips forward, but not slamming them forward, not choking George. Not yet, anyway.

George hums as best he can around the heavy bulk of Louis filling his mouth and edging into his throat. He clasps his hands around the bars to clutch them tight, and he whimpers a little when Harry's big, warm hands settle over them, his thumbs gently stroking at George's wrists.

"You're doing so good, Georgie, so so good," Harry whispers. He sounds proud, and that makes George feel proud, and good, and perfect.

He murmurs and gulps down more of Louis' cock, his nose pressed flat against skin that's already glazed in come and sweat.

It's so good, so much and so nice and George is being so good in his cage, he's perfect in his cage, and Harry and Louis think he's perfect in his cage, too.

It doesn't even hurt at all, because the cage takes that away. It's lovelyperfect and so is Louis' cock, insisting salt against George's tongue.

"Oh, fuck," mutters Louis, and George can see his head lean back against Harry's shoulder. "Fuck, look at him, Harry."

"Look so beautiful, George," Harry murmurs. "Never seen your eyes quite like this."

George can't see his own eyes, obviously, but he can believe he looks beautiful. Knows it, actually, because he's always beautiful in his cage.

Harry's thumb sweeps lightly over George's cheekbone, at the thin skin cradling beneath his eye, and George lets his eyes flutter shut to dust Harry's skin with a lighter-than-light butterfly kiss. (He must like butterflies, thinks some distant part of George's brain.)

That nearly makes him laugh, but that won't do, not when his mouth is so full and he's so close to making Louis come again, so very close and ready for it.

Eyes clenched tightly shut, George can forget everything else in the world other than Louis and his cock, making Louis feel good, making him so, so happy with his Georgie.

Louis tugs on his ear lightly, and whispers, "Close, Georgie, I'm really close, okay? Swallow for me."

George tries to nod as best he can and redoubles his effort, slurping away with an obscene sound to make Louis shiver.

He can feel the shudder that rolls through Louis when he comes again, his thighs trembling against the backs of George's knuckles, his forehead pressed against the bars of the cage.

George swallows it down -- there isn't much, this time -- and then pulls back a little to lick Louis clean, his tongue gentle on the oversensitive flesh.

Louis is still shaking, just a little, but he strokes George's hair and murmurs sweet things to him, his chest heaving.

When Louis' hips twitch uncomfortably, George moves his mouth away, kissing one of the dark bruises over Louis' hipbones lightly. He sits back in his cage; he's done so well and his cage whispers it to him, so he sits quietly, pleased with himself.

"You're amazing," Harry says. From George's angle, he's supporting most of Louis' weight. "Did so good, sweetheart."

George giggles and chucks his chin against his shoulder. He knows he did well.

"Do you want to stay in your cage for a while?" asks Louis softly. "Or would you like something to drink? Eat? Sleep? Cuddles?"

George wants to stay in his cage, yes, yes, he doesn't want to come out ever. This is his home, his little George nest. But he would like some coffee and blankets and cuddles and if they want him to eat, he could eat, he thinks. As long as it's not cinnamon.

"Use your words, darling." Louis seems to be coming back to himself, though he's never really out of control. "Tell us what you need."

They're very patient as George rolls the words around in his brain, then slowly tastes them before they come out of his mouth. "Would like that. Yes. But -- home now?"

"You want to go back to your flat?" Louis asks slowly, a frown beginning at his eyebrows.

George's heart seizes and he's shaking his head before Louis even finishes asking. He clings to his cage, just in case they try to bring him out already. "No. This -- my safe home."

"Oh, right, right, sorry, love, of course." Louis pets him carefully. "You don't need to come out of your cage until you want to."

George curls up on the lovely floor of his cage and smiles at them beatifically. "Never never never."

"When you're ready," Louis reminds him gently. "As good as you look when you're inside."

George shakes his head happily and burrows down into his arms. They're silly, in the world outside his cage. He's very serious in here.

"Would you like some water?" Louis asks him again. "You can have it in your cage, if you'd like."

George considers it, then nods. "Thirsty."

"Harry," says Louis, touching Harry's shoulder. "The -- you know the glasses I'm talking about, the long skinny ones. They'll fit through the bars."

Harry leans down and reaches through the bars to tickle the bottom of George's foot lightly. "I love you, Georgie. I'll be right back; I'm coming back."

George knows that. It's still lovely of Harry to say, and he kisses the part of his arm he can reach.

Louis grabs a pillow from the bed and sits down right at the foot of George's cage, arms hooked through so he can watch George like a drowsy tiger at the zoo.

George likes when Louis watches him. It's not like other times, when people George doesn't want looking at him do it, because he knows Louis loves him, and he knows Louis loves looking at him.

Louis drums his fingertips on the floor of the cage and George giggles as it reverberates up into his ear. "Hey, little love. Can you come here so I can touch you?"

George shuffles himself forward, until he's well within reach for Louis, his knees pressing to the cold bars of his cage.

"Hi, love," Louis murmurs. He strokes over the fronts of George's thighs lightly. "You're all messy."

George laughs. "Your fault." He grins at Louis, sticky and sated and happy. "So're you."

Humming in agreement, Louis gently wraps his hand around George's cock. He doesn't stroke. Just holds it. George is always hard in his cage, just something about the energy and the security of being inside.

He finds himself wanting to kiss Louis, more than he normally does, even though he can't when he's under and he knows that. But Louis looks so soft and George is so happy and Louis deserves kissing more than anyone else George has met.

He leans down and kisses Louis' wrist, instead, because that's allowed. He can feel Louis' strong little heartbeat under his lips and it feels like George's own heart syncs to it.

"I love you so much," Louis whispers to him. He touches his fingertips to the back of George's neck, watching him, looking at him.

That explodes like firecrackers in George's mind and he sings a happy note, buzzing.

"Like a little songbird," Louis says, smiling at him, the corner of his mouth pulled up. "Songmonkey."

George giggles and knee-walks a bit closer to Louis, who's still gently cupping George's cock in the circle of his fingertips.

"I brought tea, too," Harry announces, balancing a cup and a tall, thin glass filled with water. "I know how you get."

"Good man!" Louis enthuses. He takes both cups from Harry, who keeps padding around the bedroom, gathering blankets. "Georgie, can you hold your own glass if I give it to you?"

George holds his fingers out in front of him. They're steady enough, if a little messy.

"Good boy." Louis praises him, and George has to hold the glass in both hands to drink from it, but that's alright. He dribbles a bit down his front and it's cold when it splashes onto his cock -- George giggles.

"Dirty boy." Louis knuckles the wetness up George's stomach, over his chest and then drawing back. "Getting yourself all wet."

George keeps giggling, his black eyes sparkling through the cage bars at Louis and Harry.

"I see," says Louis, a smile on his own face. "You're still silly, aren't you? You're cute when you've gone silly."

George sets his glass down on the floor of the cage and Harry takes it before it has a chance to fall.

"Better?" Louis asks, obviously looking over George to make sure he's alright.

George nods and yawns, stretching. Even with his arms up high, he can't touch the top of his cage like this.

"Good, I'm glad. Did you need anything else? Food? Blankets? We've got seventy."

George tilts his head, considering. "Messy."

"Messy like you want a bath or messy like you just need a flannel?" Harry asks, playing with a tendril of George's hair. It's getting long again.

George hums, considering, leaning into Harry's touch. He can't think when Harry and Louis are touching him: he doesn't need to, they know what he needs. He trusts them.

"Let's get you a flannel," Louis says softly. He rubs George's thigh again. "Clean you up. And then I'd like to get a plug in you so you're nice and ready for tomorrow."

George shivers at the thought. Tomorrow, he'll be open and ready and able to take both of them at once, so much at the same time, and he doesn't want to wait even though he knows he has to.

He nods enthusiastically, nudging his nose up against whatever of Louis he can reach, and then Louis is gone, padding feet disappeared to the bathroom to dampen a warm flannel to clean George up.

He's very efficient, thorough, cleaning George's skin and sliding the flannel up around his neck to get behind his ears. That makes George laugh.

"Sweet," Louis comments, and rubs at George's belly a last time for good measure. "Can you turn over for me?"

George hums affirmatively, squirming around do that Louis is behind him. This might be easier if he wasn't in the cage, but... he doesn't want to leave. Not yet.

He rest his chin down on his elbows, bum in the air. When he's in his cage, he doesn't need to look to know it's just Louis and Harry.

"Good boy," Louis whispers, and when he touches George, it's gentle, and never suddenly. He always goes slowly, like he doesn't want to spook him.

George coos a bit and relaxes into the gentle stroking of Louis' hand. He mews a whimper when Louis' mouth licks over him, a soft pressure to open him up for first one finger, then two.

"You're going to need a plug bigger than you're used to," Louis tells him, one hand on his hip. "Is that alright?"

George's brain chugs slowly over the information, trying to come up with an answer, but it's so hard when Louis has fingers inside him and he's so sweetly protected by his cage.

"George." Louis' knuckles rap against George's hip. "Words, please."

George tongues over the word _green_ and lets it fall out of his mouth, tiny glittering lovely word as it is. Nice things happen when he says it.

"That's good, George, really good. Harry, the blue one. I like that one." Even though George can't see Harry move, he can hear the soft footfalls as Harry stands, moves to the drawer by their bed.

Louis leans forward as much as he can and kisses the back of George's thigh. It tickles, and George's toes wiggle happily.

"Here we go." George can feel the blunt head of the plug as Louis draws it up over the back of his thigh, over the place he just kissed. It leaves a wet residue, so George knows it's been slicked up properly.

He exhales steadily as Louis eases the curved piece into George. It is bigger than what he's used to a plug being, and he's a bit nervous about spending the night in it -- but he thinks, he's in his cage, and he's allowed to touch himself in here, and he's allowed to come, and they can help him if it gets to be too much.

And Louis is being so careful, going so slowly, making sure he doesn't hurt George. He's being so kind, so sweet.

It seems like ages before Louis' hands move away to rub soothingly up and down over the backs of George's thighs and tickle at his knees and smooth over the round of his bum lightly. "Are you alright, little love?"

George shifts his hips from side to side, then nods. "Yes," he croaks. It really is bigger than his usual plug. "Yes, thank you."

"Good," Louis whispers. "You're so good; perfect for us. Can I see your face?"

George has to gasp when he moves back to his knees, the plug shifting inside him. He wriggles to face Louis and Harry, though every movement reminds him that he's all plugged up, open for whenever they want to fuck him.

He knows the look on his face must be just as open. His cage protects him, but he wants Louis and Harry to protect him, too, reassure him that he's alright and loved and he wants to touch them more, kiss them all over so they're pleased with him.

"Do you feel nice with your plug in?" Louis touches the fingers George has threaded through the bars. "Do you like it? I love that one; it's my favorite, blue and big."

It takes a while for George to decide. All decisions are difficult when he's like this, but he doesn't know whether he'd be able to answer right away about this new plug even if he weren't in his prettylovelywonderfulwarm cage.

Louis doesn't rush him, just waits patiently until George says, haltingly, "I like it. Different."

"It is," Louis agrees. "Not as big as Harry though, is it. I don't even think it's as big as you. But you haven't been in yourself, have you."

George giggles madly at that, and it makes the plug bump interestingly up against the insides of him.

"Whole new meaning to 'go fuck yourself', isn't there?" Harry asks from where he's hooked his chin over Louis' shoulder.

George shakes his head. His collar -- the new one, worn beside the old one that he still loves -- clinks against the cage bars.

Louis smiles and leans in to kiss his wrist, just above the beads of his old collar. "Are you still pleased with your new collar?" he asks softly. "Nice material, doesn't irritate?"

George doesn't have to hesitate with this question. "I love it. 'S'like a cage on my wrist."

It is, too -- it's solid steel, burnished a soft matte black just like his cage, and Harry and Louis had taken turns on the screws that hold it in place. They're the only ones who can take it off of George.

"Good, I'm glad." George is close enough to the bars that Louis can kiss his forehead, nice and soft. "Will you want to stay in your cage tonight? To sleep, like you did last time?"

George nods. "In my nest."

"Right, exactly, in your nest," Louis agrees. "You can have loads of blankets to keep you warm."

George smiles and carefully arranges himself in the best seated position he can with such a big plug inside him. "I love my nest," he whispers. "I love my cage. I love you and Harry."

"We love you, too." Harry's gone all quiet and throaty like he does when he's weirdly emotional but doesn't want Louis to make fun of him. "So much, Georgie."

George smiles at him and holds his hand out through the bars for Harry to kiss.

And kiss Harry does, his fingers and his palm and his wrist and his knuckles, Harry kisses his hand all over until George is too giggly to stand it anymore.

Louis reaches through the bars, too, and ruffles George's rumpus of hair. "So happy today. I'm glad. I'm going to get you a bit of food and then we'll give you some blankets to make your nest, alright?"

"My nest," says George joyfully. He does so love his nest, and he loves building his nest, warm and soft and perfect here in his cage.

While Louis is downstairs, Harry clucks sweet things at George and he shuffles back over to the bars so he can cuddle up against Harry as much as he can while still caged. Harry is impossibly warm and solid and smells so good, and there are always new black tattoos staining his skin for George to find and explore.

There's a massive fuck-off butterfly tattoo on his stomach, now, and the premise is cute, but it's still a bit too close to a moth for George to stick around it much. Instead, he fiddles with the padlock on Harry's wrist, and then the nails on his arm.

"Georgie, that tickles!"

"It's silly."

"It's a pun." Harry sounds a little sulky. "I thought it was funny."

George kisses the nails lightly. "You're funny." He traces the rigging of the ship covering most of Harry's arm. "I want one. Please?"

"A ship or a tattoo?" Harry asks. "Or a tattoo of a ship? Because I think I've cornered that market."

Nose wrinkling, George whispers, "Like a bruise, but forever."

"Then you can have one." Harry's eyes are steady, bright and green on George's. "Of course you can. We'll go with you, even if you want."

George beams. "Now?"

"No, sweetheart." Harry kisses George's nose. "Not right now." He drizzles kisses down George's nose, then glances down to where George's prick is poking its way between the bars. "Are you alright like that?"

"I want to make my nest," George requests. If he can't have a tattoo, he'd like his nest, warm comfy safe.

"Okay," Harry murmurs. He hesitates, his eyes sliding to the door to see if Louis is back yet -- he isn't -- and then very, very gently fits his lips against George's mouth.

George sighs, and it feels like wisps of gold must breathe into Harry as he does, as Harry kisses him so soft and sweet and lovely. His head's all filled with fog and it just feels so good to be kissed like this.

Harry holds George's cheek in one hand, stroking behind his ear. "Shh, shh, sweetheart, you're alright," he whispers. George must have been whimpering; he didn't realize. "You're okay."

"Always okay with you," George whispers. It's not an exaggeration.

Harry smiles at that and kisses George's cheek this time. "I am very, very lucky that you think that."

George smiles, nosing at Harry's chin, because it's the only part of him he can reach. It's enough, though, because he's touching Harry, and Harry's touching him, and everything's lovely.

Harry keeps his fingers stroking through George's hair until Louis bustles back into the room with another glass of water and a little sandwich.

"I can't figure out how to get a plate through the bars," he complains. "So you'll just have to hold it."

George's stomach rumbles, though he hadn't noticed he was hungry at all. He accepts the sandwich and gives Louis a blinding grin, biting into it.

"'S'good," he declares, his mouth full.

Louis kisses two of his fingers and presses them to George's cheek. "I'm glad. H, I have one for you, too, I left it in the corridor."

"You left a sandwich in the corridor?"

"It's on a plate."

"I'll put you on a plate," Harry grumbles, but he makes his way out of the room, returning shortly with a sandwich of his own. "Dick," he says huffily.

"What?" Louis asks, sounding bewildered. "You know everything that's ever happened in your corridor."

"That's why I don't want to eat things off it," Harry grouses -- but he winks at George.

George laughs, and he's missed this so much, watching them throw banter back and forth. They work off of each other so well. It's a joy to witness.

His sandwich is good, too, and he isn't embarrassed at all to be eating it in front of them. He knows they think he looks good. He probably really does, even. He's in his cage. He definitely looks good. He always looks good inside here.

Looks good, feels good, and... and there are crumbs on his nest. He brushes them off, grumbling. No room for crumbs. Crumbs are awful to sleep on, which George knows from experience because it seems the only people he shares beds with are the sort of people who like to eat toast in bed. Like savages. Jaymi is awful for eating in bed, if George is honest, and he's lost track of the number of mornings he's woken tucked between Harry and Louis while Harry happily dribbles crusts and jam on George's ear. Neither of those things are supposed to go in ears. Nothing's supposed to go in your ear, that much George is sure of. Nothing smaller than your elbow.

"Georgie, what're you thinking?" Louis sounds fond, and then there are tapping fingers on the floor of George's cage again. "Your face went all funny."

"I don't like having jam in my ear," says George absently, curling up a little. "Or toast."

Louis blinks, then walks his hand like a friendly pet across the cage floor until his fingers can curl around George's ankle lightly. "Alright, little love. We won't do that, then."

His touch makes George smile, like it always does, and he presses his forehead to the bars of the cage to be as close to Louis as he can be.

Squeezing George's ankle, Louis smiles. "Is it alright if we open your cage to give you blankets?"

"Like blankets," George says agreeably. "Much better than jammy ears."

Louis smiles as though George has said something profound (and in reality, only about a third of the words George _thinks_ he's saying are really making it audibly out of his mouth).

His cage door opens slowly, like he's an animal they don't want to spook, and then he's covered in about forty different blankets, soft and warm and all smelling like Harry's house, which does smell nice most of the time.

George hums and buries his face in one of the blankets that's landed on him, smiling at the LouisAndHarryness of them. It's white with pink spots, and near his knee is one that matches except its spots are blue, and George feels like he's full to bursting with adoration for them both.

"Good?" asks Louis, his fingers staying soft and careful on George's leg. "Do you need more? Or more pillows? We've got loads."

George pushes the blankets around, making a round little pallet and a pouch where he can curl up, the plug still stretching him slow-burn and good. There are more than enough soft blankets for a George safe in his cage. "Got eleventy already."

"Eleventy-three, that's alright," Louis agrees. He rubs his hand up George's ribs, smiling at him soft like George thinks he almost never gets to be.

George yawns and it squeaks over the top, so he giggles and burrows down into the blankets, wriggling so Louis can have more skin to touch.

"Time for sleep, you minxy little vixen." Louis' smile grows wider, and he thumbs a curl of hair behind George's ear. "Is there anything else you need before we turn out the lights?"

George blinks. He's in his cage and he has a Louis and a Harry near him, watching over him, and blankets and has had food and water and sex and there's nothing else he could ever need, is there?

Thankfully, Louis seems to understand his expression just fine, and he nods. "Well then, I think we'll all turn in. Could do with a lie-in, couldn't we, Hazza?"

Harry sighs until his shoulders slump, and George giggles again. "Wish I could have a lie-in. I'll wake up early, as usual."

"And bother me, as usual," Louis repeats in a slow, affected drawl. "Alright, love. And little love. Time to sleep."

"Lullaby and goodnight and all that," agrees Harry, leaning toward the cage to chuck George underneath his chin. "Sleep well, alright, sweetheart?"

George nods just enough to rustle his hair, already slipping down to doze. He sleeps so well in his cage, so soundly, almost dreamless. Just safe and secure and content.

There's a sound like Harry's kissed his fingertips and then a light touch to his brow, and then nothing. Just the safe, warm dark.

It's much less dark when George rustles next, swimming hazily back into wakefulness and barely able to open his eyes against the blinding stripe of orange London sun blaring into his cage in a line across his face. George grumbles a bit under his breath and nestles into the blankets, trying to block it out. His ankle strikes one of the cage bars with a _clank_.

"Oi shush," he hears vaguely from across the room. It's Louis' typical morning voice, rough and soft at the same time, and it's followed by a quiet snore.

Pale pink evens out the bright light in the room and Harry whispers, "Sorry. Just checking the weather."

"Th'fuck d'you think th'weather is. London," Louis grunts. "Too early. Back to bed."

Harry laughs again, low and rumbly between his ribs and George is awake enough to want to press his face there and get a good sniff of Harry before he showers off all of his sleepy-Harry smell. He rolls over and blinks, slowly, waiting for the room to come into rosy focus between the black bars of his cage.

"Hello there." Harry's voice is appropriately hushed, but close, and George isn't at all surprise when his visage swims into view. "Good night's sleep?"

George smiles, easy on his opens face, and rolls onto his back for a good stretch. He mews in surprise when the plug inside him bumps up, but then just giggles, nipples hard and blanket over his waist pushed up by his hard dick.

"Very good night's sleep, then." Harry sounds amused and vaguely impressed. "How's your plug, little Georgie? Need more slick? Bit dry?"

George tilts his head to admire Harry, framed by light. His hair is curlier in the morning, all a-rumpus from the pillows, and he's mostly a silhouette in front of the window like this, all glowing outlines and soft gray-brown skin dotted in black tattoos, like one of the statues from the museum where George had sucked Harry and Louis off in New York when it was cold. There at the top of Harry's thigh is the tattoo he'd gotten that morning, three sweethearts in a row, and George shivers, biting his lip.

"I think you probably do," continues Harry, which is good because George isn't sure he can talk at all at the moment and his arse does feel a little too dry to be comfortable.

George nods. He palms his dick once, and then slowly rolls over to show Harry the plug. His cock feels heavy and swollen where it hangs between his legs.

"Yeah, that looks uncomfortable." Harry taps the end of the plug very lightly, and even that makes George wince a little.

Harry will take care of him. George shuffles closer to the bars and looks up at Harry with big, pleading eyes.

"It's alright, I know it's sore, hold on." Harry shuffles over to the drawer next to the bed and then returns with a tube clutched in his hand. "Just stay there, okay? I've got you."

George sighs and rests his cheek on his forearms. He trusts Harry. He knows he's got him.

The first touch is gentle, and so is the second, and all of them, really. Harry's good at gentle. He twists the plug out until he can drizzle more lube onto it, and it feels much better when it eases back in. Harry is careful but efficient, like he always is.

George hums, pushing back to get more of the warmth from Harry's big hands. They trail over the backs of his thighs and up over the round of his compact little bum.

He hears Harry laugh, softly, and his thumb rubs at the base of George's spine. "How're you doing? Better?"

George tastes his lips thoughtfully, sleep fading out of his mouth. "Yes." He shifts from one knee to the other. "Want me?"

"Mm," Harry hums. He sounds like he wants George. "Not yet, love. Let's keep you on ice for now. Ready and waiting."

George whimpers a little, rolling over again to spread his legs a bit and show Harry how hard he is. Harry always takes care of him; Harry and Louis are so good to him, so, so good.

"Would you like me to get you off?" Harry's voice has gone low, a little smoky. "Could give you my hand. Maybe my mouth. If you said please."

George pants a bit, nodding at Harry from beneath his fringe, eyes wide. Harry's so pretty in the morning.

"Can you use your words, George?" Harry urges, kneeling slowly in front of George's cage.

Words. George can use his words; he's very good at words. "Please?" he says slowly. The word feels odd in his mouth, but then again, his mouth feels a bit odd, like it's not working properly or like he needs to get used to it again.

"Very good," Harry praises, and his hand reaches through the bars. His fingertips trail over the insides of George's thighs, up and down, up and down. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Please," George says again. It's a word he's figured out to say; maybe it'll work more than once.

Harry laughs gently. He's wearing black pants, and the line of the hems against his strong thighs makes George's mouth water. "You feel 'please' today? That's not a feeling, sweetheart."

"Is," George halfheartedly argues, squirming hopefully. Harry looks so good, and George wants him so much.

Harry smiles down at him, and the warm, callused pad of his thumb rubs over the hypersensitive, ticklish strip of skin connecting thigh to hips to cock. "Okay. 'Please' can be a feeling."

George is pretty sure he makes a sound at that, quiet and pleading.

"You're so sweet in your cage," Harry murmurs. His hand finally, finally wraps around George's cock, already slick and red at the tip. "Course," he adds, "you're always sweet, aren't you? Sweetheart." His hand is moving much too slowly. Much, much too slowly.

George groans, rocking his hips up into Harry's fist. His toes curl against the cold bars of the cage.

"That's good, love, that's really good." Harry sounds a little breathless. George is proud of that, at least.

He can see that Harry likes this, feels like at this point he's got a good hold on what Harry likes and doesn't like. There isn't much that George does that Harry isn't into, and that makes him feel good, so good that he has to make a little happy sound, pressing his toes against the bars again to keep himself grounded. He doesn't want to float away.

"That's so pretty, George," Harry murmurs. "Love you in the morning. Love you all the time, really."

George groans, low and desperate, as Harry's thumb runs around the ridge of his head.

There's a rustle, and back on the bed, Louis sits up, his hair a haystack and his face pinched against the morning light. It softens when he sees his boys, and that makes George groan again, clutching onto the bars of his cage because he can't hold himself up when Louis is looking at him like this.

It's a look he saves for George and Harry, as far as George can tell. It's not just fondness and it's not just affection and it's not just lust, or love, or possessiveness; it's all of them at once. It's like Louis would like nothing more than for this to be their lives, alone here doing what makes them happy.

George would like that too, he thinks, wouldn't terribly mind only ever talking to Louis and Harry. When he's like this, there's not much he minds, anyway.

Louis stretches, and there's a mark on his chest from George's mouth the night before. George coos when he sees it, and Louis smiles.

"You're loud," he says. "Woke me up." He yawns. "Harry, he can come to get the edge off, but then we've to get him up a bit. Big day."

"I know." Harry's voice is melty and soft. He blinks, slowly, like he's taking a moment to come back to normal speed, and bites his lip. "I just, I like him like this. Beautiful, isn't he? Really beautiful?"

Louis rustles again. "Of course he is. Why'd you think it was my idea to get a George?"

"It wasn't your idea at all," Harry says petulantly. "I met him first."

"Well, I met him best," Louis says.

"You didn't at all," grumbles Harry, and none of this conversation involves as much getting off as George would like to do. He rocks his hips hopefully, making another quiet sound.

"Don't be needy, George," Louis says, sharply. "I want Harry to decide when you come."

The command makes George's next breath get stuck in his throat, makes him want to bear down and open up and come already, but he knows better. He swallows, letting out his breath, and tries to clear the fog in his head as well as he can.

"Good boy," Harry murmurs, and his voice is so deep it should rumble the air like an oncoming storm.

George can hear himself, heavy breaths in the air, or maybe it's just that he's stuck in his own head so all he can hear is the quick in and out and in and out of his own breathing. He's practically panting, but he hasn't come yet, so he's still being good. He's been a very good boy.

"I'm impressed, Georgie," Harry continues. "You're doing so well. Do you remember last time you were in your cage, and you came before anyone even touched you?"

A quick bob of his head is all George feels he can handle. He's so close, on the very edge of coming, but Louis said he can't, so he won't. He does remember though because he feels just like that now, all overwhelmed and surrounded by good feelings in his cage.

It's protecting him, he thinks vaguely, keeping him good.

It's a nice cage. The best cage. He gives it a little pet, for being so nice.

"That's it, Georgie," Harry encourages softly. "Wish I could see what's in your head when you're like this. Can you tell me?"

George shakes his head, lips pressed together. His eyes are huge as he stares up at Harry.

"D'you want to come?"

He nods, slowly, because he's not sure if that's against the rules or not. It's pretty obvious that he wants to come, though. Harry could tell without him saying.

Harry smiles, wide and white and dimple-cheeked. "Could you even if I stop touching you?"

George isn't sure. He's not sure about a lot of things when he's in this space, because he trusts Louis and Harry to take care of him. He's not good at answering questions now, but he nods again anyway, because that seems to be the right answer.

Harry leans down against the bars and gently kisses George's forehead through the space of them. His hand leaves George's cock and George whimpers, but Harry stays close and warm and smells so strongly of _Harry_.

"I know you can do it," Harry whispers, his breath soft against George's hair. "Come on, dove, I know you can, such a good boy."

And George can. Louis is watching him from the bed, all soft hair and blue eyes and too sleepy to do anything except sit and watch his boys. And Harry is so warm that George can feel it everywhere that they aren't touching anymore, the head of his own hard dick peeking up over the waistband of his pants. And his cage.

He makes an odd noise, he's sure of it, a combination between a grunt and a moan, but he's coming, slow and lazy just like the morning, his hips jerking once, twice before settling back where they were.

Inside him, the plug bumps up against everything it should, and it's too much and just right all at the same time. George's eyes feel shiny when he looks up at Harry and Louis and it's like they're glowing.

Maybe this is what being on acid is like. Everything's moving and colors and brightness, like someone's turned the saturation up on a merry-go-round.

Harry's hands find George again, warm and steadying, resting on his waist. "Good boy, George, that was so good."

Then it all snaps back to normal, and everyone's the right color and speed and everything, and George sighs, happily, leaning onto the bars of his cage to keep himself up. He can smell Harry all around him, and even though Harry's only touching his hips, it feels like Harry's all over, like he's wrapped inside a blanket made of Harry.

Harry kisses George's hair again. "Can I open your cage? Would that be green, yellow, or red?"

George doesn't particularly want to get out of his cage, but he knows he has to eventually. He can't live in here, as much as he'd like to, so after the requisite grumble, he murmurs, "Green," and leans back to let Harry open it.

They don't make him come out of his cage, though. The first time, he'd clung to it for ages and ages, so last time, Harry and Louis had just waited outside its door for George to decide, slowly and carefully and on his own, to come out and cuddle into their laps.

He hears a thud as Harry's opening the door and knows without looking that Louis' just rolled off the bed. He does it on purpose, sometimes, like getting to his feet is just loads more effort than bruising his bum. Sometimes George doesn't understand Louis, but he thinks he'd like it less if he did.

"Harry, you left your belt by the bed," Louis grumbles. "I've got a buckle print on my bum now."

"Wouldn't have if you'd hop out the bed like a normal person." Harry throws a look over his shoulder at Louis. "I'll kiss it better, if you'd like."

George ducks his head and giggles, covered in come and still being split in two by the huge plug and delighted by Louis.

Louis, who has knee-walked over to them, and has his chin set on Harry's shoulder, arms around his middle. They look so very inviting, even if George doesn't want to leave his cage.

"Good morning, Georgie," Louis murmurs. He yawns again, and smudges his face along the side of Harry's shoulder. Unlike Harry, Louis is still nude, not hard, but all pretty, bare skin.

They make a pretty picture, always, but especially now in the vagueness of the morning light. Fuzzy around the edges, Harry still a bit pale from the winter but healthily flushed, and Louis tan all over, the both of them spotted with tattoos down their arms or over their chests, sun on ink on skin. George is so very in love with all of it.

Louis silently holds out his arms, not pressuring, just waiting.

At a crawl, George eases himself out the door, his plug bumping inside him and starting to becomg uncomfortable. He hopes it'll become less so when he's less sensitive, but knows that if it doesn't, Louis will take it out for him. Louis is good at being able to tell.

George shuffles across to them, finally, his knees on the hard floor rather than the mass of blankets that is the bottom of his cage. He misses it already, but Louis is still patiently holding his arms out, and that's as nice an invitation as any.

He pushes his face into Louis' chest as soon as he's close enough, and sighs when Louis' arms wrap around him, one hand scrubbing into George's hair for a good sweet scratch and the other just splayed across George's back to keep him close.

Louis smells like the bed, like sleep and deodorant and a little like sweaty boy, and George closes his eyes, tucking his face closer against Louis' skin. He doesn't even mind when Louis laughs and tips them backwards, because that just means George gets to lie on Louis, which isn't a hardship.

He sort of meows happily, his legs on either side of Louis' hips. It's one of his favorite places to be.

"You've very sweet this morning, little love." Louis kisses the top of George's head. "Did you have a nice night in your cage? Words, please."

It takes George a minute to find enough words to answer. He's cuddled up with Louis and Harry's hand is heavy and comforting where it rests on his back, and the sun shining through the window makes him feel like a content, sleepy cat (as does all of the petting he's getting).

Thankfully, Louis doesn't expect an answer right away, simply smoothing his hand up and down the back of George's neck while he waits for an answer.

Finally, George exhales and lifts his head from Louis' shoulder enough to answer. "Really nice. Thank you."

"Of course." Louis smiles at him, then yawns, blinking owlishly. "Mm. Bit early for such a rumpus to be made." He presses his warm cheek against George's for just a moment, long enough that George can feel his mouth curving into a smile. "Lucky I love the pair of you enough to get out of bed for you."

George smiles against Louis' neck. "Love you, too."

"I know." Louis seems content to just lie there, all skin and knuckles sliding down the indent of George's spine. "Have we brought you a bit up, then?" he asks, after a minute or two. "Need you mostly up for a bit."

George is quiet, letting Louis massage his back. It is a bit rough sleeping on a floor, even if it's the loveliest cagiest floor in the world. Finally he shrugs the best he can while lying on a person. "Not really sure. Think maybe."

"We can handle maybe. We've got time to make maybe definitely." Louis tickles George's side. "Ready for some breakfast? Between us I bet we could convince Harry to make a proper one." He lowers his voice to a stage-whisper. "Real people-pleaser, that one."

George giggles.

(Of course, George giggles.)

He's got loads of evidence of Harry's people-pleasing, to be fair. And the pouty face Harry makes when he's not sure he's being insulted just adds to the funniness of the situation.

"I'd think you two would appreciate my quirks," Harry says. He gives George's rump a pat, since he can't reach Louis anyway, and George is the one giggling.

George shifts and swallows a whimper, spreading his legs a bit more to accomodate his plug. "I like your quirks," he offers, his voice slower than it normally is.

Harry bends down to kiss George's shoulder. "I know you do." Then he sighs. "I guess I'll fix breakfast, then. George? When you feel ready, do you want to make coffee?"

George perks up a bit. "Coffee," is all he says, but he's pretty sure that counts as an answer.

Harry beams, then shakes out his hair like a great German Shepherd and stands. "I'll be downstairs. Just me and Dick, The Ghost."

"Oh, I didn't know you'd named him," George says, settling his head back down on Louis' chest. Louis' got quite a comfortable chest. George thinks it's probably because he does actual exercises and has pecs and things.

"That's his name," Harry insists. "The Beeb said so; he's a pirate ghost called Dick Turpin and he haunts the pipes."

"I thought that was Moaning Myrtle," says George.

"Maybe they're related," wonders Harry. "I should ask him next time he's in a chatty mood."

"Watch out for Basilisks," George mutters, too sleepy and happy to keep his eyes open.

"Opposite, isn't it? Watching out for them'll just get you dead. Don't watch out for Basilisks," Louis instructs. He sounds a bit sleepy himself.

"You're both dorks," Harry says, and walks out the door. George cracks open one eye to stare at Harry's bum and his pretty, pale, long thighs as he walks away.

"Mm, I know, right?" mutters Louis, his eyes squinting at George as his mouth curls up at the corner. "Too bloody good-looking for his own good, isn't he?"

George nods, trilling a happy little _ree!_

"You'd know all about that, though." Louis gives George's cheek a quick peck. "Surrounded by pretty big-eyed pink-cheeked boys, I am. I'm living the dream, basically."

George giggles, tucking his face against Louis' neck again. "Me, too. Got you and your bum. And Harry and his basilisk."

"It is a bit of a magical serpent, isn't it?" Louis hums. "Doesn't kill you if you look at it too long, though. I'd know."

Louis rubs at George's back a bit more, then lets his hand drift lower, to George's bum. "You doing alright?"

"Mm. Hmm." George nuzzles against Louis' throat. "Bit sleepy," he admits. "Bit, er. Full."

Louis kisses George's ear. "Do you want me to take out your plug for a bit? Give your little bum a break before we fuck you again?"

George wriggles said bum to check, then sighs, nodding. He doesn't want to have to take out his plug, but it keeps pressing against sensitive places and it hasn't stopped hurting like he wanted it to.

"It's okay, George," Louis says cheerfully, moving George like he's a ragdoll, settling him on his elbows and knees, bum in the air. "Your arse is cute either way."

That gets another giggle out of George, quiet and tired, as he settles himself in the position. When he's like this, the plug doesn't hurt as much, but he can't eat or crawl or breathe, either.

Louis murmurs softly to George as his hands caress over George's thighs and hips and back and bum; gentle things, dirty things, promises that he'll keep later in Louis- and Harry's big bed.

George shudders and relaxes, biting his lip. Louis is rubbing circles on his hips, now, his fingers close to where George is anticipating them but not quite there yet.

"Ready, Georgie?" Louis kisses the knobble at the top of George's spine. "Relaxed?"

"Yes," George responds, his voice gone soft. He wants to grit his teeth in preparation, but that's probably not such a good idea, so instead he just braces himself on his knees and waits.

Louis' mouth is comforting when he kisses George's tailbone, low and near where his hands are working, just enough that George can focus on the shivery-warmth of that instead of the pull and drag of the plug as Louis eases it out of him.

Once the plug is out, though, nothing can really distract George from how empty he feels now, and he shudders, sinking his head down onto his folded arms. It's not terribly unpleasant, just a massive difference from the fullness of the plug.

Louis kisses each pokey vertebra of George's spine, a long line of smudged lips as he covers George, still-soft dick pressed up against George's bum.

"S'big," George manages after a second, his fingers tight on his arms, his hole clenching around empty air.

Louis kisses George's shoulder blade. "I know, Georgie, but I've got you. You're okay."

And George doesn't think he could be anything other than okay, not with Louis draped all over him and the faint smell of bacon coming up from downstairs and the even fainter sound of Harry whistling as he cooks.

He turns his head just enough to kiss Louis' bicep. It's a very nice bicep, too, and he's happy to nose against it for a minute while his jumpy body settles down.

"There we are," Louis sighs. "There we are, you're alright, you're so good. I know that one was big, but you're okay now, aren't you?"

George hums thoughtfully. "Not as big as Harry. So, yes."

"Well, Harry's got a Basilisk prick. Basiprick. Oh, no, that sounds a bit like a prick that's got basil on it. I'll come up with something better." Louis gives George's hip another rub before he sits up on his heels to stretch his arms over his head.

George just giggles, though, until he's snorting into his arms and Louis is staring at him bewildered.

"What?"

George squeaks a little before he can say: "Pesto!"

Louis gives him that fond smile again, with a roll of his eyes. "Next time we make pesto, I'll ask Harry to put his dick in it, shall I? It'd be a laugh to see if he actually does it, anyway."

George wrinkles his nose. His brain still feels funny, like he's coming out of hibernation, all warm and fuzzy and sort of desirous of honey and a good splash in cold water. If Louis told him to stick his dick in pesto, he'd do it.

"Would you like a shower before breakfast, babe?" Louis asks, his touch feather-soft against George's back. "It's up to you. You can shower later, if you'd rather."

George tilts his head and stares up at the scruffy underside of Louis' jaw. Does he want to shower? Does Louis want him to shower. He touches the patch of drying come on his belly pensively.

"Right. Easier question." Louis presses his cheek to the top of George's head. "Are you hungrier or dirtier?"

"Dirtier," George says, truthfully, but gives Louis a coquettish look from beneath his eyelashes anyway.

"Mm. Always are, aren't you, my dirty boy?" Louis licks his lips lasciviously, and it's equally arousing and amusing, which is what a good number of Louis' facial expressions are.

George's nose wrinkles as he ducks his head with a giggle. "I love you," he offers quietly.

"I know you do." Louis tucks George against his chest, carefully, his hands warm and smooth and lovely. "I love you, too, Georgie."

George hums, closing his eyes. He may be covered in spunk and sleep-grime and his bum needs a good soak in a hot bath already, but he's happier here than he would be there.

"George?" says Louis after a moment. He sounds rather mild and thoughtful, as he fits George against him, one hand settling on George's hip.

George noses at the "70" on Louis' clavicle. "Hmm?"

"You know how, when we were in New York, you mentioned, you wanted to get a tattoo?" Louis murmurs. "I was just wondering if you'd thought about that anymore."

George makes a thoughtful bird sound. "A bit. Jaymi and JJ've got more. I went with, but it wasn't like going with Harry."

"I bet it wasn't; getting tattooed with Harry is sort of an experience." Louis snorts. "As all the boys can attest to. And you, you know, don't you? How Harry gets?"

George moans a little, shifting where he's laid against Louis. "Mm-hmm. That was a good day, for me."

"Good day for all of us, I'd say." Louis tickles George's side. "That was our museum day, wasn't it? I loved that day."

George nods. "Me, too." He sighs, and his breath ruffles goosebumps onto Louis' chest, perking up his small nipples. George smiles and lifts his hand to play absently with one, making Louis' breath hitch, when he says, "Thank you for that. For--I wouldn't have thought do it on my own."

"That's one of the things I'm here for, isn't it?" asks Louis. He's got a rumble in his voice now, and George likes it, so he keeps touching the nipple he's got his fingers on. "To help you understand what things you like and help you like them in a way that makes you feel comfortable."

George ducks his head and tugs at Louis' nipple with his teeth once, just enough to tease. "I like you."

"Mmm, I like _you_ , in all sorts of ways." Louis tips his head back a bit. "And so do other parts of me."

George grins up at Louis. "I can feel that."

"I'm sure you can, you cheeky monkey." Louis laughs, getting fingers into George's hair.

George looks up at Louis with wide, shiny eyes. With his eyelashes so long and dark, he looks like a porcelain doll. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

Louis appears to consider it for a long moment, then shakes his head. "No, but thank you, darling. I'll save it for later. You're a love, though." He smudges a kiss to George's head.

George smiles. Louis gives George a good headscratch behind the ear and says, "There's come caught in your hair. You'll want to shampoo that, little love."

"Happens a lot, that," says George. "Think I've got the hang of it now, getting come out of my hair."

Louis smirks. He pats George's pink bum and they both stand. "Good to know."

George has to stretch, his knees creaky and aching after so long being bent, and he reaches his arms up as high as they'll go, wincing as he feels his muscles protesting.

Louis runs one fingertip down George's belly. "Pretty, gorgeous Georgie. I'll give you a massage after you eat, okay? Take good care of you."

"You always take good care of me." It's true, and he's not just saying it because he knows Louis would like to hear it, but because it's true. Louis always takes care of George. He should have a medal, a taking care of George medal.

He's been especially attentive and warm and careful ever since One Direction left on their tour. George would downplay how nice it is, but he really is needy for Louis' attention and it's always nice to get.

And, of course, he likes the look Louis gets, like George has just made his day and week and life. Like George has given Louis something nobody else can. Maybe he has.

He beams at Louis before bending down to kiss Louis' shoulder, still not allowed to kiss his lips during play. "I'll shower. Don't eat all the bacon, please."

"I'll make no promises," replies Louis, a tease in his voice. "Will you be alright? I can sit in if you'd like."

George shakes his head, then pauses. "I don't know. I like having you near. But I'm okay, if you need to find Harry."

"Harry cooks better alone." Louis shrugs, bumping George's shoulder. "I need t'brush my teeth and stuff anyway, so if you don't mind, I'll just pop in the bathroom with you."

George twirls a little over one foot because Louis won't laugh at him.

Indeed, Louis just pats George's bum again, giving his shoulder blade a kiss. "In we go, don't want to keep Hazza dearest waiting. He might decide to get a tattoo in the kitchen if we take too long."

"Can he do that?" George asks, trodding on shaky knees towards Harry's giant, haunted bath.

"Yes," says Louis, seriously. "He has a kit and just doodles when he gets bored."

"That doesn't seem sanitary," George muses. He imagines getting tattooed in a ktichen. "He doesn't use, like, food for ink, does he?"

Louis snorts, reaching into the tub to start the water for George's bath. Dick the Pipes Ghost rumbles and shakes for a minute before water starts gurgling from the tap. "Hardly. He does it right. He's only had one infection, and that was my fault."

"Just guessing, but I don't want to know, do I?" George asks, running through possibilities in his head and wincing at each successive one.

"Not really," Louis admits. He takes careful hold of George's arms and helps ease him into the bath. "There's my good boy. Do you want me to wash your hair?"

George tries not to perk up quite as noticeably as he wants to, but it's hard not to. "Please?" he asks, giving Louis his biggest pleading eyes.

Louis smiles indulgently. "Head back." 

It's nice, like this, George thinks, pleasantly gold and foggy around the edges; Louis alternately asking what he wants and then rewarding him with commands. It's good.

It makes it much easier to stay in the nice foggy place rather than get lost in it, when Louis keeps him sort of in control of himself. He's not fully up, couldn't be when he feels so taken care of and ready to be fucked, but he's -- it's not so hard to think, like this.

Louis' fingers, though, are magic when they scrub through George's hair, and even if George weren't so happily willing to go down and stay there, it'd be hard not to feel taffy-pliant like this.

He burbles what hopefully sounds like a pleased string of syllables at Louis. He's very good at this, is Louis, with his magic hands and his even more magic fingers.

Louis snorts. "You and Harry are both so easy. A little conditioner and you're putty in my hands."

"M'always putty in your hands," mutters George. At least, he thinks that's what he mutters. "Easy for you."

Louis snickers. "That's true, you are. I do count on it. And I appreciate it."

"I know." George happy-burbles a little more, the last of the conditioner rinsing clean out of his hair. He already feels more awake, which he supposes is a natural side effect of having loads of water sprayed on your head.

"Look at me?" When George does, Louis nods, pleased. "There you are. You're back."

"Never left, really," George points out, though that's semantics, a little. He grins hopefully. "Can I have a kiss, then?"

Louis leans down and kisses George's forehead, then pulls a terrible face. "Ergh, rinse your face. Soapy."

"Should've expected it," George chastises, but he does turn and rinse his face in the water coming down, rubbing off the soap that remains in his eyebrows and the sides of his nose.

"You look like a puppy," Louis says. George hears his knees creak as he stands, and wonders vaguely if anyone else knows just how fall-apart-y the One Direction boys are these days. "D'you need help standing?"

"Yes," George says, even though he doesn't really. He just likes being able to feel for himself how muscly Louis' arms are.

As soon as he's out of the water, Louis wraps him up in a fluffy towel. "No pants," he decides. "Just dry off and come downstairs. I have to make sure Harry's not toddled off."

George giggles a little. "You make him sound like a puppy, or like a baby you've got to keep an eye on." Privately, he supposes Harry is rather a lot like a puppy, wandering around the world, humping things, looking sad at other people until they feed and walk him.

Louis clucks his tongue, and disappears.

He yodels _tonight let's get some!_ as he gallops down the stairs with a herd of elephants, or so it sounds.

George is laughing almost too hard to hear Harry wail back, _and live while we're young!_ He uses the door frame to hold himself up until he can make his own way down the stairs. There are no elephants. He supposes they wouldn't have fit down the staircase, anyway.

He dries everything down to the spaces between his toes, then fluffs his hair artfully into some good sexture in the mirror. Jamie would be proud, he thinks.

It'll fall flat again by the time they're done eating breakfast, but it's the thought that counts when it comes to hairstyles.

(And related homophones, considering Harry is lying on his back on the kitchen floor when George makes it downstairs. Damn those stairs and how difficult a time his knees have when he's just been under, and might still be.)

"Did you know your name sounds like 'hairstyle'?" he asks to stall for time while his brain comes back online.

"I had no idea," Harry intones. "That's the first I've ever heard about it. Tell me, does my nose also look like a penis?"

George peers at him curiously. "You know, I ordinarily wouldn't say anything..."

Harry sighs, the birds and that damned moth on his belly lifting and falling.

Well, he's right there, and George likes Harry, so he settles himself down, knees over Harry's hips. It's very comfortable there.

"Oh, hello," Harry murmurs, hands sliding up George's thighs. "This is a lovely surprise. Aren't you hungry?"

"Yeah," admits George. He can eat from there if he has to, he imagines, and Harry's a better seat than the ones at the table.

Harry's eyes open at that, and the green is soft and a little proud when he rubs George's thigh and says, "I'm glad to hear you say it."

That makes George feel a little itchy and embarrassed, so he tucks himself down into Harry's chest, cuddling into him and closing his eyes.

Harry kisses the top of George's ear. "Missed you. But I can't feed you if you're sitting on me like this. Much as I do love it."

"I think you could if you put your back into it," grumbles George. He gives Harry another solid cuddle and then slips off next to him on the floor.

Louis pats the chair at the table beside where he's already seated, staring at Harry somewhat imperiously. "In your chair, Georgie, let's pretend to be civilized."

George giggle-snorts, crawling on his hands and knees over to his chair and climbing up into it. He makes a show of sitting prim and proper, knees together, shoulders back.

"Pretty." Louis gives him a smile. "I do like how well you listen, Georgie. You're very good."

That just makes George lift his chin, pleased with himself and with Louis and with Harry and -- well, with everything, really.

Louis' fingers find their way into George's hair and he fluffs it fondly, scratching lightly behind George's ears with the pads of callused fingers.

George mumbles a purr, wondering what the opposite of disgruntled is, because he's it. You can't be gruntled, he doesn't think. Maybe dis-disgruntled.

Protogruntled.

Grunt...ous. Whatever the word, George pushes his head up against Louis' hand like a big cat. Whenever Oreo does that to Josh, Josh gets all gooey and smiley and leaves whatever he's doing to give Oreo more pets, and George is hoping that's the case here as well.

"Missed you, Georgie," Louis murmurs, pulling him closer, because George is excellent at planning. "You looked so good in your cage last night."

George knows that, because he always looks good in his cage. His cage is the one place he's always positive he looks amazing. He couldn't not, really.

He hums happily anyway and whispers _thank you_ and squirms in his chair because he's started to get a bit hard.

"Shh, not just yet." Louis scritches behind his ears again, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of George's neck. "We're going to have some food first, aren't we?"

George makes a little noise, his lips pursing together.

"Yeah, Georgie," Harry says, his voice sliding. "I cooked you breakfast and the secret ingredient is not your spunk."

"It could be. Have you ever tried?" muses Louis. "Don't think I'd like that. That's odd, isn't it, that I don't mind swallowing it but cooking it in food seems a step too far?"

"There's a cookbook," George offers, absently, as he tries in vain to talk his willy down even though Louis' attention feels so nice. "On Amazon."

"I think I've heard of it. Maybe we'll get that, test it out." Harry snickers, and tucks his face against George's neck for a moment. He emerges still grinning. "Spunk-y bread," he says in explanation. "It's like monkey bread only with spunk."

"You are the only person who'd like that much icing," Louis sniffs. "I don't know anyone who likes licking it up as much as you do."

Harry puffs himself up proudly. "It's fun to play with," he says with a sniff. "Like cornstarch and water, only it's more fun to put in your mouth."

George and Louis pull identical faces.

"Dunno if I really trust your judgment cooking now," Louis says. "I like for my food to be... not that texture. Generally."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Wouldn't have it for a meal, would I? But it's like I said, it's fun to play with and it's a good party trick, isn't it?"

"You'd tell me if you were out and about doing that at all those parties you go to, right?" George asks, his nose wrinkled. He knows Harry is kidding, but hey, Nick Grimshaw and his Aiden go to those parties and who even knows what happens when they're involved.

"What, like, snorting come off someone's arse?" Harry laughs to himself. "Nope. I was talking about our parties, actually. First time I licked Louis' come off my hand he nearly shot off again."

"Hey!" Louis protests over George's giggles as Harry sets plates of eggs and toast in front of each of them. "Sue me, I was eighteen!"

"Right, and that was the only time it ever happened. It didn't happen, like, last week, for instance."

Louis harrumphs. He has to take his hand away from George's hair to eat, and George harrumphs right back, but for different reasons.

It's alright, because Louis leans his thigh up against George's right quick, but still. It's the principle of the thing.

Harry presses a kiss to the top of George's head before taking his own seat. "I know, you need cuddles when you're coming up. But you also need food, I promise. I'll give you so many cuddles after."

"You'd better," George replies, only half-joking. He does feel like he's floundering whenever they stop touching him for very long. "At least six billion cuddles."

"One per person who isn't currently cuddling you," Harry agrees.

"I think that's fair, yeah, don't you?" asks George. He bites into a slice of buttered toast, grinning around it at Harry. He probably looks like an idiot, but that's okay. Harry won't treat him like one.

And he doesn't. Harry's answering smile is so fond and soft and it isn't even embarrassing when he reaches out and swipes some butter away from George's cheek with the crook of one thumb. "It is fair, yeah."

George wriggles happily. His bum sort of hurts, but it's a nice ache that George rather likes, so he's not upset about it.

He figures it will probably ache a fair bit for days after they're done with him. He won't quibble.

And anyway, he likes the reminder, when he's not here, that even when they're not with him, they sort of are.

He bats his eyelashes at Harry as a thank-you for the butter, and then eats his food quietly, steadily, pacing his way through it. It's good, and Harry made it, so there's no reason not to, really. They love him anyway.

"Good boy," Louis mutters when he's cleared his plate, one warm hand pressed to George's leg. He doesn't say it like -- George doesn't feel squirmy and uncomfortable, when he says it. It's just matter-of-fact; _you were a good boy, Georgie, and I'm proud of you_.

George ducks his head and swallows the last of his egg. "Thank you."

"Course, babe." Louis gives him a peck on the head with buttery lips, and George meows, scrubbing his wrist over his forehead, but he doesn't mind too much.

As soon as he's finished eating he looks to Louis with huge eyes and waits for permission to get out of the chair he's been told to be sat in. He would rather sit on one of them, or lie on one of them, or kneel at their side. He wants to be closer, touching them, the white gentle fuzz in his brain being stoked and kept warm and buzzing.

Louis shoves his chair back from the table with a screech and ignores Harry mumbling about scratches on the floor, opening his arms and raising his eyebrows at George. "You look awfully cold, little monkey."

George beams and scrambles out of his chair, curling up on Louis' lap. It's a big awkward since he's so much taller than Louis and is rather bony, but they always make it work.

"You're like a gangly cat," Louis murmurs, giving George's lower back a stroke. "I feel like I should dangle something sparkly in front of you and watch you chase it."

"I do that," George agrees. "And I like when you dangle bits in front of me."

"Long as you don't try to claw at it." Louis draws his fingernails lightly up George's leg. "Rather attached to the things I dangle in front of you."

George giggles into Louis' shoulder, happily fuzzy with silver-gold fog in his head and Louis' hands rested over the curve of his bum.

"How're you doing?" Louis asks him. "Thinking okay? Have you got your words?"

George nods. "Good. Happy."

"I'm glad. I like it best when you're happy." Louis kisses his head again, less buttery now. "Are you still floating?"

"Hovering," George decides. "It's a nice place."

"Hovering's good. We can work with hovering." Louis moves some of George's hair behind his ear. "On a scale of one-to-ten, how relaxed are you?"

"Ten," George mutters. How could he not be, tucked in Louis' lap, with Harry right beside them?

"Good. That's very good, little love." Louis smiles at him. "How are you feeling about what we talked about before? Taking both of us?"

George lifts his head and nods eagerly. "Yes, please. Green."

Louis chuckles, all warm and soft and low. "Not quite yet, darling. You get a gold star for enthusiasm, though."

George smiles at him and hesitates only briefly before leaning in and pressing a little kiss to Louis' cheek, low where it's prickly near his jaw. "Thank you."

This time when Louis laughs, George can feel it, the tiny vibrations against his lips. "You're very welcome. Come on, Georgie, let's have a bit of a lie-down, alright? For my sake."

George _ooh!_ s when Louis wraps his arms beneath George's thighs and lifts him like a sack of groceries.

"You've got arms," he says stupidly. It's easy to forget when Louis isn't heaving him around like he weighs nothing, but Louis actually works out, a _lot_ , and his arms are all muscled and gorgeous and strong.

"And legs," Louis agrees. "And a bum and a spleen and everything. Two kidneys, even."

"You know what I mean. Prick." George bites Louis' hair, arms looped around his neck. "I like them."

"Thank you, little love, that's kind." He heaves George up a bit and George squeaks again. "You're light as a bird. I know you prefer monkeys, but I've never carried one of those."

"Carried a koala once," Harry pipes up behind them. George can see him from his perch. "Smelled a bit worse than our Georgie."

"Pissed on you more, too," Louis says. "Unless, George, you into that?"

"Er," says George, for lack of anything else to say. "Are you asking me if I'd like to piss on you or if I'd like to roleplay as a koala?"

"Well, I meant pissing, but we could arrange something if you really wanted to be a koala," Louis says thoughtfully. "You are, a bit."

“Don't think I'm furry enough." George gives his own chest a critical glance. "I haven't even got one chest hair."

"Me, neither," says Harry. He settles down on the sofa and opens his arms, and Louis hands George right to him so he never has to stop being touched for a moment.

"You've got other hairs, though," Harry says, though it comes out in a bit of a mumble as his mouth is pressed to George's armpit before they shift to accommodate each other. "You've got like the happiest trail I've ever seen."

George's giggly is squawky and he covers his mouth with both hands. "Makes it sound like it's dancing around my bellybutton!"

"Why do they call it that?" wonders Louis. "I mean, I get pretty happy when I see yours, but that can't be the reason..."

"That's probably it," Harry says, and he rubs his fingers lightly through the fair hair of George's. "Although maybe they're ticklish, judging by George."

"Most things about George are ticklish," George cuts in. It feels odd speaking in the third person, so he stops. "I've got a lot of ticklish parts."

Louis' eyes flash as he leans towards them both. They'd learned well enough that a tickle was one of the fastest ways to send George under.

After all, tickling is uplifting. George is always good for a nice tickle.

Louis' fingers traipse across George's ribs once and George squirms in Harry's lap, wriggling both towards and away from Louis' hands.

He makes a whimpery pleased sound that makes Louis grin his shark grin, toothy like he smells blood. He's got bloody quick fingers, managing to somehow get under George's arms and his belly-button and his nipples and the backs of his knees all at once.

George shrieks and flails and Harry catches both of his wrists in one hand, squeezing tightly, holding George's arms up above his head.

That's it, then. George goes limp, his head falling back, feeling contained and owned and held and it's perfect, really. Floaty foggy goodness.

He can practically see his giggles as they punch out of him, happy pink little sounds that circle around Harry and Louis before popping like bubbles grown too big for their skins.

"There we go, pretty boy," Louis murmurs, nuzzling kisses into George's stomach. "That's what I like to see. You're doing great, aren't you?"

George mews, stretching long and lean as Harry holds him immobilized across the length of the sofa.

"Hiya," Harry greets in a soft whisper, switching to holding George's wrists in just one hand, his other one petting down George's chest.

That's a blue, growing word, splashing like a whale's tail. It takes a minute's watching and considering it from the horizon before George whispers, "Hi."

Harry snort-giggles at him and noses along George's hairline. "I like you like this," he hums. "I like you every way, but especially like this."

George hums, leaning up against the warmth of Harry's breath. "Love you."

"Love you every single bit," replies Harry. "Six billion bits."

It's the happiest that George can imagine being. Harry's hands are pressing blue bruises into the protruding bones of his wrists, and Louis' mouth is warm and soft and beard just a bit scratchy on his belly.

"Color, Georgie?" Louis says, and George feels it more than hears it, the wet pink of Louis' mouth pressing words against his skin.

George's hips work a little, his prick fattening up again just beneath Louis' chin. "Green, good. Thank you."

"Good, good. You remember all your colors, right? And you'll use them if you need to?" Louis walks fingers up George's chest and then back down, something for George to focus on while he remembers how words work.

Finally, he nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He remembers colors, green -- yellow -- red, each flashing briefly through his head with a feeling. He is definitely green now, good, warm, safe, loved.

"Bed, d'you think, Hazza?" Louis asks softly, and even though he's talking to Harry, George doesn't feel like they're talking over or around him. He just feels cared for.

Harry leans down and bites at George's forearm, low near his wrist, just over the vein, and sucks hard enough to raise a dark bruise.

"Harry." Louis' voice is louder, a little sharper. "Should we go up back to bed?"

Harry looks up when George is whimpering. "Yeah, let's bring him upstairs. If that's where you want it."

"I think it'd be best. Good to have the room, anyway." Louis is rhythmically squeezing and releasing one of George's ankles, tight and then loose and then tight again.

George flexes and points his toes. 

"Do you want me to carry him?" Harry asks. When George looks up at him, his lids are lowered and green eyes very dark as they cast down a little, submissive to Louis even as he keeps control over George.

"Mm. That'd be lovely, Harry, thank you." There's a note of something in Louis' voice that George recognizes, something rumbling behind his words, and it's just so sweet and hits all the right places in his brain. "I like watching my favorite boys helping each other out."

Harry's neck bends again and he dapples kisses over the new bruise on George's wrist. "I'm going to lift you up, Georgie, okay?"

"Yes," says George after a moment of thoughtful silence, working his words out of the gold spun-sugar cloud in his head.

Harry suckles at George's wrist lightly, then lets go of his hands. George is limp and relaxed and lovely as Harry bundles him up in his arms.

"Perfect. C'mon, I'll lead." Louis rolls smoothly off the sofa and George wonders, in words that he doesn't fully comprehend even as he's thinking them, how anyone could think Louis ever does anything else. Louis is a leader through and through, in every way George has known him.

George presses his face into Harry's neck as he's carried up the stairs just to feel Harry's pulse against his cheek, comforting and solid and _Harry_.

It's not even as bumpy a ride as it usually is. Either that or George just doesn't feel it.  
His cage is beautiful in Harry's room, and George whines a little as they get near it, because he loves his cage. He loves Harry and Louis and Harry's big big bed.

"Getting off the plane now," says Harry, making what George supposes is an airplane sound and gently dumping George onto the big big bed.

George giggles, bouncing a little on the mattress. He beams up at Harry and Louis and they're so, so pretty, aren't they? Louis is skinning out of his shirt and there are so many new tattoos on him; George saw them last night but he wants to taste them all now.

You're so beautiful, aren't you, Georgie?" asks Harry, crawling on the bed behind George and nuzzling at the back of his neck. He feels shiny and bright, like pure light is kissing George's skin.

George nods. He _is_ beautiful like this, when he's with Louis and Harry, making them feel good.

"He is, always," Louis agrees from the end of the bed. He's removing the rest of his clothes, slowly, methodically, his expression sinking into one George recognizes very well, vaguely determined and satisfied and thoughtful.

George loves that look on Louis. It's when he seems the most... himself, even if he's always Louis, really. He seems the happiest when he can take care of his boys and make sure that George is good for him.

He beams at Louis with wide bright eyes. He wants to be good for Louis, not just for himself, but because being good for Louis makes Louis happy, and Louis deserves to be happy more than anybody else in the world.

Louis smiles back at him, or at the knot of Harry-and-George all wrapped around each other at the head of the bed as Harry kisses George's neck and shoulders, his big hands rubbing slow, soothing circuits over George's hips and inner thighs.

"My boys," he says fondly with a sigh. His hands are loosely on his hips, which is a pretty picture when he's naked. "My favorite boys. Both still alright?" he adds, kneeing up onto the bed.

George nods happily. "Green!"

"And how are you, dearest Harry?" Louis asks. He kisses George's head and then leans over it to kiss Harry's.

Harry gives a happy, low, sounding hum, a bit of music in his voice. "Excited. Green, too, Lou. Love you."

"Love you," Louis returns, easy as anything, and George thinks (doesn't think, feels and knows and is) that even with everything else this has given him, that's still his favorite, the ability to so easily love and be loved and speak love, the ability to see love and know that he has it where he never thought he would.

He reaches out one hand that feels like cotton and touches Louis' bare hip, the strong leanness of it. His muscles feel good under George's fingers.

One of Louis' hands then curls into George's hair, not pulling, just resting, his fingertips pressing lightly on George's scalp. He kisses George's neck, and lets it linger, warm soft red wet pretty lips touching George.

George groans, his legs falling open easily under Harry's big hands and Louis' soft touches. He's so hard it's already leaking, wet smudging onto his belly.

"Harry, lube, please," murmurs Louis, the words vibrating against George's throat but it feels like they echo through all of him; he can feel Louis and Harry in his bones.

Harry's hand grazes George's side as he reaches around him to give Louis the bottle of lube.

"Thanks, love." There's a sound like Louis' kissed Harry's fingers, and George giggles, though that's as much because he feels like giggling rather than anything else.

Harry moans so low it's only a rumble against George's back; he can't hear it, but he can feel it. "Can't wait to get inside you, Georgie," he murmurs. "Been missing you for ages."

George tips his head back against Harry's shoulder, blinking at him. He's missed it too, so much, always. He feels oftentimes like he belongs there between them, all full of cock. He's never happier than when he's sandwiched between his Louis and his Harry.

Harry's lips graze over George's cheekbone, up high beneath his eye. "So sweet."

Louis' fingers are gentle as he nudges them at George's hole, slightly slick but not so much that it drips down George's balls, which he always hates. George is still loose and relaxed and the plug's done what it was meant to, two of Louis' fingers easily sliding inside.

All the same, George sighs, shifting where he's lied against Harry so that he can get more of Louis inside him. It's been so, so long.

"Eager." Louis laughs like he doesn't mind at all, low and pleased. He slips a third finger alongside his others, his other hand hefting George's thigh to get him right where he wants him.

As he's slowly scissoring his fingers open, Louis kisses his way down the inside of George's thigh, from the tickly fair skin at the corner of his knee and down and down.

He spends a lot of time at the crease of George's thigh, licking and sucking until there's a lovebite there that George will be able to feel every time he takes a step, and dark enough that it'll last for a few days even after he's gone back home.

Harry keeps a comforting, tight grip on George's upper arms, squeezing into the soft of his biceps. He hopes there will be Harry-shaped bruises there in the morning.

"That's just perfect, dove," Louis sighs, a fourth finger dancing at the edge of George's rim like he's dying to push it inside. "Pretty as a picture, as always."

The words brush up against George in a floating haze of pink, bursting like rockets. The words roll around in George's mouth to find space between his teeth before he whispers, "Thank you."

"Welcome." It sounds like a song, out of Louis' mouth, or maybe it's just that there's music in George's head, because it sounds like a song, too, when Louis sets his mouth against the jut of George's hip bone to bite him there as well. 

There are four fingers tucked inside him, and it still doesn't feel like enough, not when Louis' cock is nudging up against the side of George's leg and Harry's hard and huge where it's pressed up to George's back.

"Harry, you're bigger, it should be you first," Louis says softly. "Slowly. You'll be good, though, won't you, Hazza? You know how to be good."

Harry nods, and when George cranes his neck to look back at him, Harry's eyes are glossy and dark. Maybe he's under, too, maybe both of them and they're both being so good for Louis. George noses at Harry's jaw with a small, plaintive, loving sound.

"You'll need to lean forward, a bit," Louis whispers to George, like he's confiding a secret. It's very silly, as Harry's right there, and George giggles again.

"Hello," Harry says, his voice quiet and deep like it always is. There's something about Harry; George wouldn't be able to do this with Louis alone because with Louis George feels hypercharged and wired and he wants to do so well that he needs Harry there to be solid and deep and calm, to keep George's brain from exploding.

"Hi," he replies, nuzzling up against the barely-there rasp on Harry's jaw. He can feel when Harry leans back against the bed, bringing George with him, but it seems unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

"You alright, Georgie?" Harry asks, and he trails his index fingertips like paintbrushes in a pattern across George's ribs, tattooing him with warmth.

"Green," George coos, the whole back of him covered in Harry's front, and he's so warm and floating and basically like a little hot air balloon. That makes him giggle again.

Louis pats George's hip and lies down, too, face-to-face with George, and his blue eyes are so soft and so fond and so determined, protective, watchful, that George whimpers a bit.

"You're doing brilliant, Georgie, fantastic." Louis thumbs over George's lower lip, like a sort of finger-kiss. "Exactly how I need you."

The idea that Louis _needs him_ sends a rush jolting through George, and he hooks one calf around Louis' legs to open his thighs, welcoming him in.

"Pretty," says Louis, smiling and hooded eyes and his knuckles stroking over George's cheek. "Harry's going to start, alright, George? And then me."

George nods, and he bites his lip, waiting. Harry slides one warm hand to rest open-palmed over George's chest, just over his heart, and he murmurs _just me, sweetheart, you're so good for us_ in George's ear because he knows, exactly, the kinds of reassurance George needs.

He almost worries about shooting off before Harry's even all the way inside him, but it's hard to worry about anything at all like this. Harry's cock is lovely and huge and George has missed it, he's missed it so much.

Harry is going slowly, but to savor, not to test George or tease him. It really has been ages and ages.

Harry's fingers are tight on George's thigh, holding him open tightly enough that George knows he'll have bruises there tomorrow, and he makes a pleased noise. He does love the bruises.

"That looks so good, my boys," Louis murmurs, and he runs his fingers over George's belly where it's contracted tight.

"So nice." Harry's breathing hard behind George, in and out, air on the back of George's neck. "S'nice, Lou, it's so good."

Louis tips his head forward to suck a dark mark into George's neck. "Can't wait, love."

George smiles and knows that he's going to look so nice even tomorrow, with all these little reminders that he belongs to Harry and Louis. He's going to feel so good and fucked and pleased.

Harry's hand--the one not rested on George's chest--reaches out to take hold of Louis' arm, his fingers stretching wide around Louis' big bicep like he's measuring it out.

Louis' gaze goes over George's shoulder to meet Harry's, and after a moment, he grins, teeth and all. "Having fun, are we?" he asks, one hand running up and down George's side.

Harry nods, and his hair tickles the back of George's neck.

"Good boy. Good boys, both of you." Louis' hand reaches over George's ribs and he assumes that it settles on Harry's hip, because he can feel the shuddering breath that Harry takes in at the feel of it.

Louis bites at the mark that he's just made on George's neck and then murmurs, "I'm going to join in now, okay, Georgie? Say your colors whenever you need."

George hums, mutters, "Green," and then wriggles a bit in an attempt to entice Louis closer.

There's a moment's stuttering pause from both Harry and Louis, shuddering as their cocks touch, both brushing up against George so that he startles a little and shivers to the base of his spine.

"I'm gonna go slow; remember to use your words if you need me to stop," says Louis, and George _feels_ when he begins to push in. Harry's pulled out, quivering a bit behind George, and George feels split open raw. They're not both in him at once but it feels a bit like they are, Louis pressing in so soon after Harry.

And Harry's cock is still rubbing up against him, just barely touching at the rim to feel when Louis starts to slide out, not giving George a moment's reprieve.

There's a certain rhythm to it once they get going; in and then out but never really out because someone's always in. It's like being fucked on two different planes of existence because there's never a moment when George isn't full or being filled and it's just about the best sex he can recall ever having.

And it doesn't hurt, like the last time, when they'd tried before to stretch him too full. After so long without Harry's cock, that's big enough to burn as it is, but good, achy and warm.

His head feels like it's floating off his shoulders, so filled with sugar-spun candy, and if they weren't holding him down so well, George thinks he'd not have a head anymore.

He doesn't need a head for this, probably. He's not thinking, after all, just feeling and being felt and it's like his chest is made out of gratefulness and love, and his heart is ready to thump-thump-thump out of his body. George can feel everything, everything in the world, from the sweat dampening his skin to the gentle friction of the sheets.

There's Louis and Harry all around him, and he's all around them, he can feel that, too, more than anything, the way they're brushing against each other, cocks kissing, right at the rim of him as he takes them both in one after the other, over and over and over.

The pace of it is so steady, so rhythmic, that George can focus on that and nothing else. His mind zeroes in on that, on in-out-in-out-Harry-Louis-Harry-Louis-George with his thoughts surrounded in white-gold brilliance.

There isn't anything except Louis and Harry, the smell of them and the feel of their skin. The smattering of soft hair on Louis' chest brushes up over George's nipples and coaxes them hard.

"Thank you," he says, words tumbling out of his mouth without his permission because he doesn't get permission from himself, he gets it from Louis. And everything about Louis is commanding George to say thank you thank you thank you, please let me have some more.

Louis' mouth is soft and gentle as he kisses the side of George's sweaty head. "Thank _you_ , little love. You're so good for us, aren't you."

It's not a question but a statement because Louis knows, Louis knows that George is _so_ good for them, here like this all sandwiched between them hot and hard and taking it so well. He keens a soft little noise, and knows that this is what it feels like to give yourself over completely to somebody else.

Harry peppers kisses over the back of George's neck, breath panting wet and hot against the overheated skin, and George knows he feels the same.

"My boys are doing so well," says Louis, and it sounds like it's coming through a dense fog, but that's just George's head. "So good at being just for me."

As one, because they _are_ right now, George and Harry both rumble an _mm-hmm_ low in their chests, pressing the sound right into Louis'.

And Louis laughs all hard lines and soft mouth, and George wants to kiss him but he knows, intrinsically now, that he'll lose himself if he does. Being lost in Louis sounds like a dream, but Louis wouldn't like it, and George only wants to make Louis happy.

Like this, George can feel all the little differences in how Louis and Harry fuck, the feel of their cocks, the way Louis is smoother, smaller but still big enough to stretch, even now, even like this, curved to fuck into George just right.

This is what it would feel like if somebody was fucking your soul, he's sure of it, it feels too close not to. It's like more than just their cocks inside him, like they've both managed to get inside his head, inside his mind, inside all of him.

"You alright, Georgie?" Harry's lips brush the shell of his ear as he whispers, so quiet probably even Louis can't hear. His hand rubs over George's belly just beneath his ribs, spanning so broadly that he could touch George's cock if he wanted. "Breathing?"

There's a loud noise that startles George until he realizes it's just him, exhaling explosively enough that it's apparent: no, he wasn't breathing.

Louis huffs a breathless chuckle and kisses the side of George's face again, sliding home. "Silly boy. D'you need a minute?"

It's... a question. George knows that, it's a question, though it takes a moment to penetrate the fog in his head. He knows he should answer the question, but he can't. quite. understand how.

He just purrs instead and presses his face up against the side of Louis' neck, letting the next thrust from Harry behind him push his cock up against Louis' belly.

"Harry," comes Louis' voice above George's head, and George can feel the vibrations of Louis' words against his lips, "give him a second; stop moving."

Harry's pushed in deep, but he stops, the blunt of his head just barely pressed against George's prostate, teasing more now than when they were fucking so insistently.

"Good boy." Louis sounds very satisfied and fond and soft, and he noses down into George's hair. "Both of you, such good boys. "Breathing, Georgie?"

George makes a small noise because he loves Louis, likes his voice and the feel of his ruffling through his hair. He bites a little at Louis' collarbone and likes the salt-sweat taste of him.

One of Louis' hands comes between them to tip up George's chin and then he can see Louis' eyes, dark and so dilated that there's hardly any blue there to see, and he smiles when he looks at George. "Beautiful," he says quietly. "Just gorgeous, you are. You're lovely, aren't you, George?"

George smiles, his mouth wet and red and lazy. His tongue pokes out to touch his lips and he nods, eyes shining.

"Yeah, you are." Louis kisses his head, soft pink lips on George's skin. "Keep going, but slower, Hazza," he instructs. "You're doing brilliant, just a bit slower."

Harry nods, and his hand leaves George's chest to press against Louis' lower back instead, pulling all three of them closer together, tighter into George.

Like this, there's barely any movement other than the in-and-out, friction and fucking and slow grinding thrusts that squeeze moans from George's throat so deep they _hurt_.

His cock is trapped up against Louis' belly, the scratch of hair and slide of skin so delicious and painful all at once that George doesn't know what's happening other than that Louis and Harry have got him.

"Thank you," he says again, his breath catching between the words but he needs to say it, they need to _know_ that he's so grateful for what they're giving him.

"So glad you're here, Georgie," Louis whispers. "And you're doing so well, yeah, you are. D'you want to come? I want you wait until we're both finished inside you, like New York, remember? So wet and messy."

It's like Louis is having George's thoughts for him, the memory slotting into George's head neatly like he's just queued the video of it to be played. Wet and messy, so dirty-filthy and feeling like he belongs somewhere, yes, he can do that, he'll do that for Louis.

George nods, his neck weak and warm and liquid, and it's all too easy to press his face into Louis' chest and let them take care of him, take care of themselves.

He doesn't even particularly feel an urgent need to come. It's so _good_ and deep and wonderful and he knows that he's so hard and everything feels so amazing but Louis told him not to, yet. Louis told him to wait, and that's that. George will wait.

Harry rumbles, low crackly sounds like a lion waking, against the back of George's neck and shoulders, his teeth and lips worrying dark lovebites into George's pale skin.

George will be able to feel those when he tucks into bed or sits up straight in a chair, and he bites his lip hard, the sound in the room draining until all he hears is panting and heartbeats and the pleased mumbles Louis is pressing into his hair.

"Doing such a good job," Louis murmurs. "We're gonna come now, okay, and I want you to come on me as soon as we're done, d'you understand?"

"Yes," George replies, his voice choked and raspy. "Yes, please, thank you."

"Good boy, so good."

There's a rustle as Louis rests his hand on Harry's hip, and then Harry is pushing into George again, barely breaching the rim before he's pulsing, wet-hot, groaning.

It's a familiar feeling but amplified by a million, a billion times, the wet hot drip of it like it's branding George's inner thighs. There's a high-pitched whimpering sound and it's coming from George, but Louis doesn't ask him if he's alright (must know that George has never been more alright), he just gets a tighter grip on the back of George's leg to pull him in closer and then adds to the mess between George's legs.

It's not hard to follow Louis' instructions and come, right onto the skin of Louis' belly; George shudders through it, whimpering and whining in desperate need as it seems to go on and on and on, oversensitive and wanting and so hot and held close.

"That's it, that's it, there we go," is Louis' voice in his ear, soothing and satisfied, praising George as he holds him. "You're perfect, that's exactly what I wanted, sweet boy."

George can barely hear him over the rushing in his ears. Harry is still behind him, broad shoulders and narrow hips framing George in damp heat.

"Still alive, love?" Louis asks, and he's talking to Harry, so George lets himself have a moment to shakily breathe, getting oxygen back to his brain.

"Yeah, fuck," Harry breathes, and his long arms wrap around both George and Louis again, gathering them close to his chest.

Louis leans over to peck a kiss to Harry's cheek, and then back to where he was so that he can kiss George's. "Hello, darling," he murmurs. "You didn't faint this time."

George trills, exhausted but happy. Proud. So, so proud.

Harry gently nuzzles into the back of George's neck, making a sound perilously close to purring, his fingers pressing one-two-three-four-thumb into George's hip.

"You're so perfect, George," Harry whispers. "So perfect for us. Fit us so well."

His voice is slow and languid, and it sounds like he's taking time to choose his words, like he's not quite sure whether or not the words are coming out of his mouth.

George knows how that feels. He doesn't trust his tongue; the words in his head are all dissipating before they can even get close to his mouth, bursting like bubbles into tiny golden embers.

His head's like a champagne bottle, he thinks, one thought bursting through all the others, and he hiccups a little giggle into Louis' chest.

"So sweet," Louis murmurs, at the same time as Harry kisses the back of George's head with a muffled _sweetheart_.

He giggles again. Not because anything's funny, but because his blood's champagne and his head is made of fireworks, and because he's here now, with spunk cooling on his skin and his mind all pleasantly foggy and he's loved.

And his bum hurts.

But in a nice way.

"Giggly boy." Louis' affection is like a cool breeze on a hot day, sweeping over George's skin and making him shiver.

Louis pats Harry, reaching over George's hip to do it. "And you, love, y'alright?"

"Mhmm. Very." Harry's rumbly voice is pressed right up against George's throat, and he bites down once like he's punctuating a statement.

A low whimper punches out of George. His cock twitches a bit against Louis' thigh.

"Shh, insatiable, you are." Louis thumbs George's lip, like a kiss without another mouth. "Harry, are you up enough to get water or shall I go while you two have a cuddle?"

"You go," Harry says slowly. "I have a George."

"Good boy." Louis gives George's cheek another kiss, and reaches over to rumple Harry's hair before he nips off the bed and saunters, naked, out the door. He's humming. It's very cute.

Harry noses at the back of George's neck, just at the hairline where George's growing out all shaggy. "Hey you."

"Hello." George mulls over the word and decides it's an appropriate response. He shuffles backward, a little, until he can lean his head back against the solidness of Harry's shoulder.

"There you are, sweetheart." Harry sounds slurred, too, but the way he does in morning, when his voice crackles and he's slow to rise, but still comes up with the sun.

And he's warm and sweaty and his hair's tickling George, and his lips are damp and catching when he talks against George's jaw, and he's perfect, and everything's perfect.

"Let's move you a bit," Harry murmurs. "Bed's probably all damp. Can't be nice."

George doesn't really care, all in all, but he probably will eventually. And Harry wants him to move.

George flops his hand, and Harry chuckles, scooping George up in his strong arms and rolling them so that George is facing Harry now. The bed is still damp beneath them, but George never minded that, and now he can see Harry.

Harry, with his giant green eyes and his hair ruffled over his forehead, and his long neck and his tattooed chest and his red mouth, and George loves him, and he makes a noise, burrowing down against Harry.

"That's it, sweetheart," Harry whispers, stroking George's back. His hand drifts curiously down to George's bum, rubbing over the swell of it gingerly.

It twinges just a little, but nothing like it was last time, when he had to red out and everything went awful. This is just achey, like a reminder.

With a little groan-y, laugh-y sound, George pushes his face up against the birds on Harry's chest. He stays well clear of the moth.

Butterfly. Whatever it is, he prefers the birds.

"Does that hurt?" Harry asks, concerned, the tip of one finger just barely tracing over George's stretched, shiny pink hole.

George groans, quietly. "No," he replies, hooking one ankle over the back of Harry's calf. "Jus'. Aches. Nice."

Harry kisses George's nose. "D'you want a plug?"

George has to think about it for a moment, but finally shakes his head. "M'good." He noses at one of Harry's nipples. "Thank you."

"Okay," Harry agrees. He takes his fingers away and just rests it over George's lower back instead, fingertips and thumb spanning the dimples of George's spine. "We'll give your little bum a break."

George wriggles said little bum and laughs, peering over his shoulder when the bed dips down.

"Brought you water, love," says Louis holding a tall glass of water in one hand and a cup in the other. "And tea for you, you menace, because you'll take mine else."

"Cheers," Harry says cheerfully. He drums a little beat on George's back. "Can you sit up, or is that out of the picture for at least the night?"

George hums, rolling tentatively onto his back and, without fully sitting up, pressing his bum down against the bedding. It's soft enough that it doesn't hurt too badly, though chairs might be out of the question until tomorrow.

Louis knees up the bed until he's almost straddling George's knees, keeping him pleasantly caged in. "There's my good boy. Can you hold a glass?"

George lifts a hand, but it's still shaking, and even when he focuses, it trembles something mad. He shakes his head, disappointed.

"That's alright," Louis murmurs. He holds the glass to George's lips, and George drinks. It should be embarrassing, but it isn't not with that warm look in Louis' eyes and the gentle way he's stroking back George's wet fringe with his other hand.

The water is smooth and cold and it soothes George's throat, helps him focus on something other than the floating fog in his head.

"There's our George," Louis says fondly, once George has drained the glass. "I can see you coming back a bit."

"Easier to think now," George admits. He licks his lips to gather the last drops of water, and swipes his hand under his chin to wipe away a drip.

Louis' nose wrinkles and eyes crinkle with his fond smile. "Cute."

George sticks out his tongue, because it's the first thing he thinks of. He relaxes against the headboard and closes his eyes for a moment, smiling, letting himself come up a bit more.

Louis' hands are firm and gentle; he's rubbing briskly over George's thighs and Harry's massaging one of George's hands so well that he groans, delighted.

They both laugh, but it's not malicious, because _they're_ not malicious, not with him. Never with George.

Harry bends down and presses kisses to George's shoulder. "That was amazing, George. Never done that before, have we? That was amazing. You're amazing, basically. Basically everything's amazing."

"Basically," Louis agrees, amusement in his tone. "Everything's amazing, spot on, Hazza."

Harry's brow furrows and there's a soft, protesting, _heyyy_ , but George just ducks his head and giggles. They're both right, of course.

"How're we doing?" Louis settles a hand over the side of George's neck, his thumb brushing gently over his collarbone. "Are you hurting at all? Did you want to clean up?"

George shrugs one shoulder, staring up at Louis. It's very nice here with Louis' weight holding his legs down, but he is beginning to feel a little crusty.

"I can get a flannel if you'd rather not stand," Louis offers. "I'm a bit gross myself."

"You're not gross," George says earnestly.

"And you're very cute." Louis smiles, giving one of Harry's nipples an absent pinch. "I'll be right back. Harry, hug him," he orders as he worms off the bed again.

Harry grins at George and gloms right on. "Not a hardship, I have to say. I get all the easy jobs."

"I like your jobs. You've got good jobs." George can't move his arms, but he didn't really need them anyway.

Harry hums and rubs his face against George's chest. They're mostly both just sweaty, but it's a nice gesture, comforting. Harry's ear comes to rest just over George's heart, like he's listening for it.

Louis is back in no time at all, a damp flannel passing over George's thighs and cock and gently up over his stomach. Louis gives Harry the same treatment, though Harry playfully tussles with Louis over the cloth until Louis pinches his bum, earning a squawk and a glower but stillness otherwise.

George giggles at them both from where he's propped up on the pillows. He's too exhausted to move, and now that he's had time to let all of the endorphins ebb, he's aching something fierce.

"Would you like a nap?" asks Louis, pushing George's hair back off his head. He settles beside George, all smooth warm skin and sweetness. "You've been so good, you did so well." His gaze moves to include Harry. "Both of you."

Louis huffs a laugh under his breath. "Georgie, you look like you're asleep with your eyes open."

"I'm not that tired," George protests. Though, on second consideration, he's not even sure his eyes _are_ open. They must be, or Louis wouldn't have said.

"Come on, little love," Louis urges, and helps Harry gather George up into his arms so Harry can hold him while Louis changes the sheets on the bed.

George feels quite small like that, gathered up in Harry's arms. Protected, even if there's nothing here he needs protecting from.

"Are you yourself enough that I can give you a kiss?" Harry asks, tucking his chin against George's forehead.

"Please?" George requests, tipping his head up hopefully. "I am, yes. Please?"

Their noses nuzzle for a long minute as Harry stares into George's wide eyes before finally, gently, touching their lips.

It's lovely, because kissing Harry is always lovely, but George doesn't explode or suddenly come or anything. It's just a nice kiss from a person George loves.

He nudges his nose against Harry's chin after Harry pulls away, which makes both of them giggle. Harry tilts his face down to press his lips against George's one more time. "Sweetheart."

George slides his fingers to where he knows Harry's tattoo is, the one high on his thigh that is George's, because Harry's as much his as he is Harry's.

"'S'right," Harry whispers. "Love you."

"Love you," George says back, and then he twists to Louis, repeating it.

Louis lets the comforter flutter back onto the mattress, then grins. "Love you, too. Love my boys. Best boys."

Harry cheers softly, gathering George close. "Best," he says, nuzzling his face on George's like a giant cat.

George gives a happy little _ree!_ , and then Harry's settling him gently back onto the nice, clean bed.

"There we are. Much better bed for napping." Louis flops down onto it and squirms until he's taking up most of the space, half of him on George and half of him on Harry and half of of him hanging off the bed.

George thinks, momentarily, that there's not that many halves in a person, but that's starting to sound like maths and he can't be having maths when he's this tired.

As soon as Louis' arm, muscular and tattooed, comes around George's waist, George turns his face to it and bites down to nip playfully.

"Bitey little vampire bat." Louis noses at the back of George's neck. "Let's have a kip. We can put on a horror movie later and count how many times Harry pisses himself."

George squeaks as his nose wrinkles on a giggle. Harry harrumphs and rolls to face them both and wrap them up in his arms and one heavy, boney leg.

"Harry, I think you've just broken my hip with your leg," says Louis, his voice gone droll. He sets a hand on Harry's calf though, to squeeze it, quickly, before returning his arm to around George's hips.

George likes the prickly weight of Harry's leg, though. Belongs to Harry.

Louis' lips touch the side of George's neck. "Sleep, love." He pauses. "Unless you'd like to go back to your cage? I should've thought to ask before."

George considers it, sleepy eyes looking to the cage in the corner of Harry's bedroom. Its door is still open, waiting for him, and it seems to glow in the soft black luster of the noon light.

But he's here, and it's here, and he can go back in his cage later, because it's his. He smiles and drops his head back to the pillow. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Really?" Harry noses at George's cheekbone. "You love your cage."

"I love you more," George says, and that's really it. He does love his cage, but he would still love Harry and Louis without it.

After a few minutes of warm silence, just as George is about to drift off, he asks, "D'you remember when we met?"

"Not likely to forget it," says Louis fondly. "You all freshly tweezed and twelve kinds of cute." He rubs George's stomach. "Why d'you ask?"

George shrugs. It twinges a bit all over, but he's so glad for it.

Louis sets his cheek against George's shoulder. "I'm so happy we found you," he murmurs. His lips brush George's skin. "I'm so happy you found us."

George nods, turning his cheek in toward the pillow. "You definitely found me, first. But then after you did, I found me, too."

Louis smiles. George can feel the curve of his lips. "And I'm so happy for that, too," he agrees.

"I'm happy I had to wee at the same time as you on Daybreak," Harry declares. His voice is low and rough with sleep, and George can't quite tell whether he's making a joke. "I've always said that I meet the best people in men's rooms."

"You do, at that." Louis reaches across to tap Harry's hip. "Thanks, love. You're a star."

"Really, we owe the best things in our lives to my bladder." Harry's voice is slurry, like he's closer to sleep than not. "It should get an award."

"I'll make a note of it. Go to sleep, Harry." And Harry does; George can feel him sag and his breath even out. Louis' voice lowers. "You are, though, you know. The best that's ever happened to us." He kisses George quickly, their foreheads pressed together. "Go ahead and sleep. We'll still be here when you wake up."

 

And George doesn't even doubt it for a moment. There are a lot of things in his life that have become uncertain, since he started on the X Factor: whether he'll have a job in a week, whether his voice is up to snuff, whether his hair is scoring points with the magazine crowd, whether he'll ever get a second ab, where he'll be sleeping and even, sometimes, what country he'll be in.

But Louis and Harry, he trusts to be constants. If he isn't used to the X Factor lifestyle, he's happy to be sharing it with them.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _Hi! Thank you SO MUCH for sticking with us through ten months, ten fics, almost 450,000 words of fic, and 83 orgasms. We appreciate all of the messages and tweets and everything that we've gotten from this 'verse and never expected any of it! We're so happy that you like our weird little world of boy bander butts._  
>   
> 
>   
> _On a more serious note, though, a lot of the messages that we've gotten about this fic and how it's affected people have been really sweet, and have done what fic is supposed to do -- or at least one of the good functions of fic is, anyway -- and helped people to explore and ponder their own sexualities. That is awesome, and as long as you are being safe and self-aware and communicative and SEEK RESOURCES OFFLINE AND OUTSIDE OF FANFICTION for more information, we're really happy._  
>   
> 
>   
> _But we've also had enough messages that worry us that we want to address it._  
>   
> 
>   
> _When Louis and Harry were domming George without his knowledge, that was wrong. That was not consensual. And that was not (yet) kink exploration. Once we realized that the fic was coming across as D/s and was going to be more than a 2-shot, we tried to address and correct as much as we could, but we did make a mistake in the writing and it was harmful. And we are sorry._  
>   
> 
>   
> _So if you have sent us a message about "realizing" that something you were doing with a partner was D/s, please, please, please understand that unaware altered states are NOT D/s or BDSM. If you did not agree ahead of time to ANY sex act or ANY state of altered consciousness, it is not something that your partner had any right to do to or with you._  
>   
> 
>   
> _And please, if you think that this dynamic is one that appeals to you, look up resources about it that are not fanfiction. This story is not a guide, and it is not a perfect representation of D/s as a real-life practice. Fanfiction is not a ‘How to Do Sex’ instruction manual, and it -- like all other media -- is the product of people who grew up consuming flawed representations of sex and relationships, and don't always realize that they're perpetuating that until later._  
>   
> 
>   
> _If you have contacted us about realizing that a situation you were in either felt like you were submissive and didn't realize it or that you have realized was abusive and we didn't answer your message, it was not because we don't care about you. We do, and your messages meant a lot, and YOU mean a lot, too. But we just write fanfiction, and we don't have the resources to help you, either in a capacity to help you develop your knowledge and experience in the D/s or BDSM world OR in an official or trained capacity to help you report or recover from an assault. Please, please, please contact someone in EITHER case who is officially licensed and local to you who can help you._  
> 


End file.
